The Symphony of Life
by Eyelash of the Twilight
Summary: Every life is full of adagios and allegros, but they all make up a grand symphony. F!RogueHawke/Fenris. One Shot Collection Challenge. Rated "M" just to be safe.
1. Apart

_**A/N: **_Hello, ello there! I'm Eyelash of the Twilight (or ET) for those who do not know lovely ol' me. I'm not new to , but I am knew to the Dragon Age fandom! I'm very excited to be exploring other fandoms than the one I originally started writing for, and I thought I'd do that by just taking that plunge and, well, writing something. Lol. This story will be a series of one shots (how many there will be I will know later on), but there should be quite a few. These one shots will be for a challenge on LJ. This is my first time with a challenge and I'm so pumped!

The challenge goes how most fanfiction challenges go. I've been bequeathed a plethora of words and I'm to write on what I believe that they mean, which, I feel, is very fun and helps to inspire some creative ideas. The words are for the F!RogueHawke/Fenris pairing (my favorite pairing out of both Dragon Age games); I chose the pairing because I felt it had so much depth to it. And I'm a Fenris fangirl. XD

A reoccuring theme I've chosen to help spice up the collection a bit is music, but you guys can probably see that already. The chapters will have musical themes to them, as does the title and the summary of the collection. They will be called "movements", and, if I'm feeling daring, I might just throw in some others. Lol. There are also in no particular order. Some might be connected, but these are just one shots. I don't really have the time to write something big right now...

The first word on my list was "Apart", so I've chosen to put my own spin on Hawke's feelings after Fenris left her high and dry (which totally made me sad all day when it happened to me D:). This is some unrequited F!RogueHawke/Fenris, as well as some F!RogueHawke/Isabela friendship.

Also, I'm referring to my Hawke as just "Hawke" for now; I'm not sure whether or not to include my name that I used in my playthrough, which was Robin, or to just use the default name "Marian", but I should know by the time I update for the second word (which might not be for a few more weeks, but it'll be there! I promise) Or, if anyone has any personal preferences, please feel free to let me know. If anyone has any critiques or suggestions or something interesting they would like written, they can also feel free to let me know. I've never written for DA before, and I want to get better, so help would be greatly appreciated!

If you like, drop a review like it's hot. ;D

Hope you guys enjoy!

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><p><strong><em>The Symphony of Life<em>**

_By Eyelash of the Twilight_

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><p>First Movement: <em><strong>Apart<strong>_

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><p>"<em>So take a good look at my face. <em>

_You'll see my smile looks out of place. _

_Look a bit closer; _

_It's easy to trace _

_the tracks of my tears." _

**- Smokey Robinson, **_**"Tracks of My Tears" **_

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><p><em>"…It's too much…" <em>

_"…This is too fast…"_

_"…I cannot do this!" _

_"…I can't…" _

_"I…can't…" _

_"All I wanted…" _

_"…Was to be happy…" _

_"At least for a little while…" _

_"…Forgive me…" _

In a turbulence of sweat, fear and heavy breathing, she jolted upright out of bed, arms flailing around in the mayhem, hands desperate for something to cling to other than blankets and drapes. Alas, nothing everything seemed to reject her grip, the momentum of her body forcing her sideways, damp sheets and all, on to the floor beside her, the back of her head hitting the tile with a loud thump. Pain ricocheted from her skull down to the small very end of her spine, causing the entire back to arch and a loutish grunt to force itself from her throat.

It took her only a few seconds to make out her position after the fall. Back to the ground, one leg leaning against her mattress, while the other had been forced under the wooden bedframe, disappearing under the thick, almost corporeal darkness. That set her nerves ablaze. It was a shame that candle and firelight could reach only so far. She didn't like darkness of any kind. If the world's forces could bend to her will, she'd make it so that darkness, in both a literal and figurative sense, never existed. She, and, most likely, all of Thedas would be much happier with eternal, jovial daylight.

But that was the whole point of light wasn't it? Light wouldn't have a purpose if darkness could not be. There would be no way to appreciate happiness and love without having to experience pain and sadness. It reminded her of a saying her mother would tell her when she was a girl; "Too much of a good thing can be a bad thing." All must have its balance. Wasn't that the whole purpose behind the Maker, the Circle, and even the Qunari?

"A place for everything, and everything in its place…" she mused aloud. That sounded more Qunari-like.

She couldn't help but chuckle. There was definitely no place for her.

Not with mages, Qunari, the Maker…

_'…Not even him…'_

Vehemently, she shook her tender head. No, she couldn't tread those waters. Not now. It had only been three days since then, and she wasn't ready to face that beast head on quite yet.

"Three days…"

And every night since had been riddled with bad dreams; a plague propagating within her mind. Nightmares were the cause of her current uncomfortable pose, not to mention the reason why her bedspreads were soaked and tacky by morning. But that wasn't even the worst of it. There were no horrible creatures, deaths or even betrayals haunting her. It was just a voice. His voice. A voice brimming over with guilt and frustration, and each inexorable word proclaimed over and over again, never ceasing, always without mercy. A bane to her slumber. A toxin to her heart.

It had been less than a week, and, at least to her, there were no signs of this curse removing itself. Was she going mad? Or was it a demon? It had to be one or the other. How else could she justify these tormenting sounds that would not leave her? Or could it be that the shock, the unadulterated disbelief that had coursed through her, lingered on despite the passage of time?

The only thing she knew without a shadow of a doubt was, regardless of the cause, the anguish she had felt on that bittersweet night had not left her. The only thing that managed to act as a balm for it was to reflect on what had been wonderful and not agonizing. Reaching into her psyche, she forced the familiar sensations of their night together to resurface. How bronzed his skin looked compared to hers. The warm desire in his glimmering verdant eyes. His surprisingly cool hands on her sweltering form. His wine flavored lips. The caress of his breath and the pressure of his teeth on her neck. The scent of his hair, which was akin to cypress and mimosa; a woodsy fragrance.

And the markings. Each swirl and curve beautifully exotic yet anxiously compelling. She swore with every touch she could feel the lyrium, raw magic, vibrating on her skin, sending gratifying electric currents throughout her body. It was something she could never admit to him, though, no matter the status of their relationship with each other. As striking as they were, the lyrium caused him pain, and she did not think he would delight in others deriving any kind of pleasure from them.

She lost herself in the fantasy. His whispers of romance, his comforting embrace, she permitted them to spirit her to a place that had nothing but him.

_'…Fen—' _

Her senses came alive as the low sound of the wooden door opening filled the spacious, quiet room. She had not been expecting the noise to interrupt her reverie, and it caused her to jerk and gasp audibly. She didn't need to strain her neck to see who had walked in. Only one person came to her private quarters without knocking first. Hopefully her guest wouldn't notice her flustered appearance.

"I have just _**got**_ to hear about the night you had!"

But she had completely forgotten she had never moved after she had toppled to the floor.

_'…Damn.' _

Isabela, grinning from ear to ear, plopped down on the floor beside her, folding her legs and setting her hands ever so primly in her lap.

Putting on her best smirk, she said: "Don't get your hopes up, Isabela. I didn't wake up like this."

One eyebrow lowered; Isabela was unconvinced.

"Are you saying that because you _**know**_ you're telling the truth, or is it because you _**think**_ you're telling the truth?"

She laughed genuinely. She hadn't done that for too long.

"Would you like to decide that for yourself? Because I could just let your imagination run off with you instead of giving you an answer."

"Hmm," Isabela tilted her head towards the ceiling, as though the answer should come falling through it any second. "It would be much more fun, not just for me but for Varric as well, to let my imagination run wild."

"Scratch that," she huffed. "I definitely don't want Varric adding any Isabela-esque stories about me to the other completely ridiculous ones."

"Have you heard the newest one? You slew twelve dangerous blood mages who had captured a small child from Darktown with only one knife in your _**mouth**_."

She could do nothing but roll her eyes to that. How in Thedas was she supposed to stop Varric from spinning these false tales of her gallantry? She didn't necessarily mind, but once they flew on past fantastic into the foggy region of ostentatious, she began to wonder whether allowing him to continue was the right thing to do. She was brave, yes, but she wasn't reckless. And she didn't want anyone else to think that either.

"For some odd reason, that one seems much tamer compared to the others."

"I have to agree with you there," Isabela chuckled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I told him he should tell some about your sexual escapades. For the men of course. And for me. I prefer much more…decadent stories."

"You would."

"You bet! But, sadly, I didn't come up here to talk to you about decadence. I actually came to remind you that we had business to take care of today. Or did you forget we promised to raid the DuPuis mansion for that tall, grey Templar?"

It took a few seconds for her memory to catch up with Isabela's statement.

_'Emeric. Yes. Now I remember.'_

"Yes. We should probably do that tonight. It'd be easier to sneak in unnoticed with the cover of darkness."

"Oh, I _**do**_ love sneaking," Isabela twirled a dark tendril of hair around her left index finger. "And doing it in the dark just makes it feel more wrong, doesn't it?"

"I'm just going to pretend that there were no subtle implications with that sentence."

"You always take the fun out of everything, don't you?"

She sat straight up, pulling her leg down from its perch on her bed and willingly inserted it into the same black oblivion the other had ended up in during her bout of clumsiness.

"Untrue. I'm the life of the party, and you know it."

Isabela examined her fingernails. "Compared to some of the other rain clouds we know, you are most assuredly a ray of sunshine."

She turned sharply to face Isabela head on, copying her position on the ground. When she was fully settled, Isabela opened her mouth to say something, but shut it quickly, her amber colored eyes searching the face of her companion as though she were deciphering a treasure map in a foreign tongue. After what seemed like hours went by, Isabela leaned back, a curious grin forming on her full lips.

"You're eyes are bloodshot, Hawke. And you've got tear lines all over your face."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Tear lines? Bloodshot eyes?

Had she been…crying?

Crying. The word almost sounded as made-up as Varric's accounts of their adventures. She could barely recall the last time she cried; a wisp of cloud on the vast open sky of her memory. Years, her mind told her. Years. She shed tears when Malcolm Hawke died, and how long ago had that been? Too long, Hawke determined. The man that called himself her father seemed like a mere flight of fancy after the destruction of Lothering, the loss of her only brother and the ejection of her dearest sister. She never once shed any for Carver or Bethany; not when she saw her home consumed by the Blight. Tears were a sign of weakness, and, being the example she had to be for her siblings as well as her mother, showing any might as well have been criminal.

That's what she told herself, anyhow.

Hurriedly, she leapt to her feet in desperate search for a looking glass. Her eyes darted all around before she finally noticed one being shoved in her face; a small, round object held by a hand with many rings.

Isabela was right. Red lines wormed from the bright blue irises of her eyes, making them look like large cerulean spiders with spindly legs. Her face was flushed, and she found shining streaks starting at the base of her eyes, and she managed to trace them all the way down past her chin, to a place where the looking glass could not reach. She felt swollen, ugly, and embarrassed to be found that way by someone as lovely as the notorious Rivaini pirate.

Out of one corner of the small piece of glass, Isabela's face emerged.

"Something you want to talk about, Hawke?"

Hawke didn't immediately respond. It took more than she thought to discard the sight of the mournful face in the looking glass from the front of her mind. This was her face? How could it be so? Tears had not dared to stain her face sense her pubescent days. Why on earth would they come now?

Stupid question, she thought to herself. She knew exactly why her face had been stained. But no one else could.

"I-I…" Hawke stammered, pushing the looking glass and Isabela's arm downward. "I must have cried during the nightmare I had last night."

"Bad dreams?" Isabela tossed the mirror onto her bed. It bounced lightly before settling in the middle, the side with the glass no longer visible. "Should I get your mother for this? Or do you want me to hold you and tell you that it wasn't real?"

"I wouldn't _**dare**_ put you through that. But if you wanted to get me a glass of hot milk, I wouldn't refuse it."

"_**Ha-ha**_," Isabela mocked. "For some odd reason, I don't believe you."

"No, I really would like the milk."

"As hilarious as you are, I'm talking about you crying over a bad dream. Most of the things normal people have nightmares about, you've seen with your own eyes, Hawke. I think it would take more than some scary monster under your bed to provoke a tear from you."

A knot formed in her stomach. Isabela was much too clever for her own good. Hawke had never been the best at sharing her dilemmas with others. She could barely let her own sister into her personal life, at least when they had been together. Most of all, how was she supposed to drop her torrential emotions like a heavy sack on Isabela, who, not only was known for possessing an opportunistic way of thinking, but was also someone that she hadn't known for more than a decade? Both statements went against her usual thought patters. Rule One; don't burden others with your problems, and Rule Two; if you end up telling the truth, don't tell it to someone you don't completely trust with the information. And that was just the peak of the mountain. Hawke didn't know how Isabela handled personal affairs, let alone someone else's. It was more than blatant that she wasn't the motherly type, if their previous conversation was any indication, so how could she be the sisterly type? Or any type?

Telling Isabela what happened was a bad idea, Hawke told herself, the words lacking sinew.

Nevertheless, no matter what she tried to sort out, she knew she couldn't do it alone. Who else could she run to? Mother? No. Absolutely not. Though her mother might understand her feelings, telling her about her own daughter's sexual escapades might be crossing a boundary Leandra did not want crossed. Varric wasn't exactly the type that you could vent to, plus, she didn't want to give him more fodder for his narratives. Merrill's naiveté was endearing, but not when the conversation led to or involved something that was frank and lewd. Aveline took a harsh attitude with everything thrown at her, and Hawke wasn't looking to approach this with militaristic flair. Sebastian would only throw her lines involving the Maker, which didn't really help anyone but him, as pure as his intent would be. Anders wouldn't have sympathy for her as much as he would anger for the opposite party, and Bethany…

She didn't even know were Bethany was. Let alone how to contact her. Anders mentioned that being a Grey Warden was like sacrificing your life for the sake of others, but Hawke never really understood what that meant until she realized that writing her sister was inane, since Bethany couldn't really tell her where she was. She had given up all rights to her sister in exchange for the knowledge that she was alive. It was like setting a bird that wasn't ready to fly out of its cage. The cage would kill it, but there was no guarantee that it would make it that far. Clinging onto hope seemed like only option at the time.

Maybe now that _**was**_ Hawke's only option.

But when it came to this, what was there to cling onto? Certainly not hope.

So should she cling onto Isabela?

_'…There's a first time for everything…' _

Mustering up her renowned courage, Hawke spoke.

"…I…I think I've had my heart broken, Isabela."

Isabela's mouth fell open a little.

But Hawke felt refreshed. Like bathing after weeks without soap or good water.

Isabela gauged her cautiously. Hawke deduced, judging by her perturbed demeanor, that she didn't believe her. Hawke wasn't the slightest bit astonished. She and Isabela joked around far too much for her to fully trust that Hawke was bearing the sore scars of her heart without more evidence. Hawke had to comply with that demand in order to sway Isabela.

"Heartbroken? Is this about Bethany?"

"No."

"…Your brother?"

Hawke smiled at her sadly. "Afraid not."

"…Your father?"

Hawke shook her head.

Isabela blinked. "Is this about Sandal breaking your hairbrush the other day?"

Hawke laughed candidly for the second time today. In the last few days, that was a new record.

"As distraught as I was after that, no, it has nothing to do with Sandal."

Isabela breathed. "Maker's breath, Hawke. Is this about a man?"

Hawke sat down on her bed, grabbed the looking glass and turned it to reflect her face. The red lines in her eyes and the stains on her face were still there, vibrant as ever. She was heartbroken. This was the proof. In her nightmares of listening to his voice and not being able to shut it out, Hawke had wept. Wept for him, for her, wept for the silent cracking in her heart, a new sliver forming every time she had to relive him walking out the door and not coming back.

And he hadn't. She hadn't seen him since that day. The day that haunted her sleep.

And it would continue to haunt her if she didn't get everything off her chest.

Speaking to the glass, fixated on her lips instead of the swashbuckler, Hawke said it vocally for the first time.

"I slept with Fenris, Isabela."

"…Are you joking? Because if you are…"

Hawke said nothing. She counted the small, darker blue flecks in the eyes of her reflection.

"Holy shit! You aren't joking. You went to bed with him?"

Hawke snorted. "I'm just as astounded as you are."

"When was this? How long?"

"Three days ago."

"Three days ago!" Isabela put her hand on the side of her head. It was obvious she was reeling. "Three days…you mean after we killed his lady friend? When he ran off..."

Hawke switched from her eyes to her freckles. She wanted to count how many faded dots were really on her face.

"He came here," Isabela was excited and stunned as she connected each piece together. "After he got all fussy, he came here to apologize like a nice boy, but he ended up being a little _**naughty**_—didn't he?"

Hawke kept on counting.

"No wonder we couldn't find you two! You two wanted to _**tussle**_, and I do _**not **_mean fight!"

There were twenty freckles. Twenty. Had he seen all of them that night? He was so close to her face…

Isabela sat down beside Hawke vigorously, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

"Oh, stop being so staunch on the details, Hawke! How was it? Does he like being restrained? I always thought he would. I mean, you can take the elf out of slavery, but can you take the slavery out of the elf, am I right?"

"Trust me, Isabela. By your standards, it was quite boring."

"I might just surprise you, Hawke. Anyway, this doesn't quite explain why you've been blubber…" Isabela trailed off.

Hawke finally looked at her, hoping that her inner sorrow wasn't as visible as her crying symptoms.

Isabela's glare narrowed. "Did he force you to—"

Hawke gave her a meaningful look. "_**You're**_ the one joking now."

"Just want to get my facts straight. So if it was consensual, and you're definitely not shedding tears of joy…you must feel some regret about it?"

"Not exactly," Hawke blushed a bit. "He...may have said that it wouldn't be happening again."

Isabela folded her arms and crossed her legs. "Men, huh? As soon as they get what they want from you, the leave, am I right? Personally, I've had enough experience to just stop caring about who wants what. In fact, I _**prefer**_ the ones who don't want attachment. Saves a lot of trouble later, you know."

"I suppose that is true," Hawke chortled and shrugged.

"What I don't get though is this; why the whimpering, Hawke? You found someone to show you the love I _**know**_ you must be craving after everything that's happened to you in the last few years. That doesn't mean you have to have it every night, right? It should be like drinking water when you're parched. One swallow is good. Don't take another until you feel the need."

Hawke didn't say a word. This was the part that was hardest to express.

But Isabela seemed to be finding all the concealed messages.

"Unless there are attachments," She smiled impishly. "And there are, aren't there?"

Hawke could only nod.

"Hawke, was he…you know…"

Isabela let the question hang.

"Not much gets past you, does it, Isabela?" Hawke smiled bitterly, thought it was not meant for her friend.

"That explains _**everything**_!" Isabela jumped up in front of Hawke, beginning to pace. "That's why you said you were heartbroken, why you've been having nightmares and crying in your sleep. You're in love with the boy! Not to mention he made off with your virginity like a petty thief."

Hawke cast her face towards the fireplace sheepishly.

"And he left you. Balls!" Isabela slapped her own forehead. "Does he know you're mad for him?"

Hawke shook her head adamantly. "No, and I don't want him to."

"Why not? That might make him come back, you know."

"I don't know for certain how he feels."

"So what if he left because he thinks you just wanted him for sex?"

"I don't want him to come back out of pity for me. And that's beside the point. I already know why he left."

Isabela huffed. "Out with it then!"

"He said…" Hawke gathered her thoughts, tearing them away from the feel of his soft, snow-colored hair on her skin. "He said it was because he had remembered his life before he was a slave. Sometime during…._**it**_…he could recall everything about his past. But, afterwards, he couldn't bring it back. He said it…pained him."

Isabela conveyed no emotion. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Hawke unconsciously began to defend him. "He seemed like he was upset by it, though. He apologized fervently, but insisted that he couldn't continue it. He said it made him happy, and that was what he wanted, even if it was for a moment."

Fury seethed from Isabela. "That is bullshit. Sorry, Hawke, but I'm not kidding. That is complete and utter bullshit. Be glad he walked out on you. To the Void with him and his excuses."

Hawke bristled. "Where did all_** that**_ come from? Why are you so angry with him?"

"Because I know his type, Hawke. His leaving has nothing to do with anything he told you. He's afraid. He's turning tail and running like a frightened, beaten dog. If he wasn't afraid, he wouldn't give a damn about his past life or his _**pain**_ or _**whatever**_. He wouldn't leave you. He would just shove it all out and stay with you."

Hawke's eyes widened. She had never seen Isabela so ardent about emotion and the treatment of others before. This was something new she hadn't expected.

"You're saying that he's afraid? Afraid of what? Me?"

"He's afraid of starting over. He's so focused on his past that he can't take that step forward and realize that the future is more important than any sodding slavers. He's not ready to move on."

"That still doesn't explain the anger," Hawke held up one finger.

"One," Isabela copied her gesture. "I can't stand cowards. You know that. Two, he's toyed with your emotions, whether he meant to or not. He knew what he was getting into. He's not completely ignorant about the ways of the world. Women don't look at sex the way men do. Well, most women. I'm special. But my point is, he took a risk; there were either feelings or there weren't, and now look at you. He's broken your wee little heart. Poor girl."

"I don't think he planned on having flashbacks, though." Hawke felt herself becoming wistful. "It just caught him off guard and he didn't know how to handle it."

"How is that any better of an excuse? Did he come to your house planning on tumbling with you? Did he plan on meeting that magister woman when we traipsed through the Wounded Coast that day? Did he plan on joining our merry band of misfits when we helped him raid his master's mansion? I'd bet good money that the answers to all those questions is "no". But they happened regardless, didn't they?"

"What are you getting at?"

Boldly, Isabela put her hands on her hips.

"What I'm getting at is this; when that Hadriana woman found him, he dealt with it by going after the bitch. When you asked him to come to the Deep Roads with us after the mansion plot went downhill, he dealt with it by just tagging along with us. He didn't deal with this, Hawke. He fled from you like you were the Blight. All because he decided he was too timid to deal with it. That's a coward if I ever saw one."

Hawke couldn't refute her claims. Fenris had left because it had been something he wasn't prepared to face. Was that true cowardice? She had always thought that when people fled, it was out of fear, which also stemmed from cowardice; for those who did not lack valor remained and faced their demons head on. Nonetheless, Fenris had never been a coward before. Any time an adversary that had tormented him from his life in Tevinter appeared, he would face it head on. Isabela even proved it by reminding her of the incident with Hadriana.

So what was it that made Hawke different?

"Thank you, Isabela. I appreciated your friendly wrath." Hawke said, trying not to dig too deeply into the complicated psyche of the elf that caused her turmoil. Most of her just wanted to forget it had ever happened and move on with her life.

"Pleasure's all mine," Isabela winked. "By the way, does he know that you were a virgin?"

Hawke shrugged. "I'm sure he might have some idea, but I never said it directly to him."

"I'm assuming he was also a virgin?"

"From what he's told me."

"Aww, it's actually kind of cute. Save for the whole "Sorry, it was fun, but I've got an emotionally scarring past I need to get over first." That's absolutely cruel. Why don't you tell him he took your virginity? Bet that'll spread a nice smearing of guilt over all that lyrium."

"Whether or not it was from fear or pain he left me, he still felt remorse for the mistakes he made."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "Sure. 'Oh, I'm so sorry for what I've done, even though I know I have the power to change it.' As far as I'm concerned, that doesn't count for anything."

Hawke smirked. "Then how about this: I don't feel like giving him more to brood over."

"I love how he denies it so much. One day, Varric will get him to break down and admit he does brood pretty much all day every day."

"And then he'll brood about that."

"Then get all flustered and deny it again."

Hawke and Isabela smiled at each other, and, for a strong moment, Hawke truly believed she had found a good friend in Isabela. She did not regret for one second coming clean to Isabela about what happened with Fenris and how she felt afterward, but the breaks in her heart had not mended, and the melancholy felt by them was not dissipating. Something was still not right.

"Isabela…" Hawke started. "I'm still…"

"Still heartbroken?" Isabela swayed back and forth somewhat.

"It's getting to be kind of creepy the way you know everything I'm about to say."

"What can I say? I'm truly one of a kind. I'm a woman, Hawke. You're a woman. I know how women think. That, and it's obvious you're still hurt by the expressions on your face."

"I always thought I was harder to read than that."

"Women can read any emotion when they see it. If emotions were languages, they'd have us all sent to the Circle for out gifts."

"It does seem to me like they send anyone who isn't normal there."

"And I'd be the first one they'd jump on. But that's not important."

Isabela swaggered back over to Hawke's bed and sat next to her, taking her hand and holding it between both of hers, the one on the top patting her fingers with a feather light touch. Isabela's skin was smooth, but felt thicker than her own.

"The thing is, sweetheart, you're in love with this boy, and only hard work can get rid of that. Until you do, or he decides to come back, you're going to be inconsolable. The pain isn't going to leave. You gave him something you can't really give anyone else, and, to your heart, he took it, threw it on the ground and stomped on the thing until it disappeared. You have every right to feel the way you do."

Hawke kept her gaze at Isabela's hands. Though she wished she could contradict her, Isabela was right. Her feelings for the former slave were authentic and impossible to shake. It was like a disease, the way this love had invaded her and refused to leave. There was no cure. This wasn't something she could cut with a knife, slay with a sword, or disintegrate with magic. This was no foe to be conquered. This was no quest to complete. This was something Hawke couldn't take down, no matter how much help she got or how much tenacity she summoned.

And that irked her. More than anything she'd ever faced. More than this Qunari dilemma. More than the Deep Roads expedition. More than earning her way into Kirkwall. More than running from the Blight. More than leaving her home. She had never encountered a problem she could not fix, save for the deaths of her father and brother and Bethany's newfound title of Grey Warden. Every path she looked down was closed. There was no way out.

Hawke wanted to hate him for it. Wanted to summon all the rage that she could find within and force it all at him. But every time, it failed. She could only think about how enchanting his eyes were, how handsome his face was, how sultry his voice sounded, how soft his lips felt on hers, how lovingly he had held her in the moonlight. It was a prison she couldn't escape, a trap that she had walked into without a second thought. She could only blame herself. And that just brought shame.

She was hopelessly in love, deep down in her bones, and nothing she could ever do would make it stop.

Hawke blinked, and a single droplet of water fell on the knuckle of Isabela's ring finger.

_'…Am I…' _

Hawke snatched the looking glass from its resting place on her pillow and let it reflect her countenance.

Tears.

She was…crying.

And fully awake this time.

And it was so easy to trace the tracks they made on her face.

"Sometimes," Isabela said softly, yet positively, "all you really can do is cry, sweet thing."

So she did. She didn't sob or moan. Soundlessly, Hawke let the tears fall on her face, and Isabela didn't move until they were all gone.

Using the sleeve of her robe to wipe the water from her flaming cheeks, Hawke turned back to her friend, hoping for some insight to one last question.

"Why did he run away from me, and not from Hadriana?"

Isabela leaned in, a knowing smile on her face, and she whispered.

"I think it's because he's never been in love before."

Hawke felt her chest swell.

She could only hope Isabela knew what she was talking about.

"So," Isabela waggled both brows. "_**Now**_ can I hear the gory details?"

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Hawke wasn't exactly sure when she and Isabela decided she was well enough to start the day, but by the time they both walked out of her estate in Hightown, the sun was already close to the middle of the sky, meaning the day was already more than half over. Hawke felt chagrin wash over her along with the sunlight. She had spent far too much time wallowing in her own misery. Letting a beautiful day like today pass over her when she could have used it to solve all of this mess with the Qunari made her feel foolish and selfish at the same time.

"I spend too much time focusing on myself," Hawke said in passing.

"You're joking right?" Isabela, lead her down towards the market district. "Every breath you take isn't even for yourself, Hawke."

Hawke knew Isabela was right. She'd been right about a lot of things. So Hawke allowed herself to smile and wave Isabela off.

"It's not like I need air to live, you know."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot, all you need to get by is a broody elf, right?"

"Very funny."

"I still can't believe he said it was "fine"! He might as well have called it "adequate"! You definitely need some tips, Hawke. I thought you'd at least get a "satisfactory" out of him."

Hawke glowered. Maybe telling Isabela wasn't the best idea. Out of everyone else she could have told, Isabela would be the only one to hold it over her head like a blood mage over the Knight Commander.

Which reminded her.

"Isabela, is Fenris going to be at the market?"

Isabela glanced back at her friend.

"Of course. Our whole motley crew will be there. Why? Are you planning on turning tail too?"

Hawke shook her head, resolved.

"I've never been one to run. I don't plan on doing it now. It's just…I haven't seen him since...so it might be a little awkward."

Truth be told, she was more than little intimidated. Something like this had never happened before; this was all unfamiliar. It reminded her of the day she first realized she would be living in Kirkwall after the majority of her life had been spent in Lothering. She had been daunted then too, but had ignored all of her doubts in order to keep her mother and sister safe from harm.

For Leandra and Bethany she had been able to persevere. There was no one to protect or assist when it came to this, other than herself. And Hawke never took enough time to put any of her attention there, nor did she care to, so where was she supposed to pull the mettle from?

Before she could finish reasoning, the typical hustle and bustle of the market filled her ears. Her eyes brought the scene around her into focus, and she caught the sight of her band of followers congregating near the path to Lowtown.

Varric was there, his confidant smile plastered on his face and his dear Bianca resting on the back of his shoulder. He was listening to Anders; the mage's brow furrowed as he spoke to Merrill, and her wide, curious eyes were everywhere but on him. Aveline was already well into an argument with Isabela, most likely started by the latter, and, judging by the facial expressions, Aveline was losing, and losing badly. Sebastian, who was sending small squares of light over the hard ground beneath their feet due to the sun reflecting off his armor, was doing his best to try and quell the squabble, but he was more ineffective than Aveline.

And then, there he was. Like a shining ray bursting through the dark clouds of a thunderstorm. Prudently, he observed both conversations, letting his eyes take turns gazing at both groups. He was propped up against the wall, one foot down on the ground and the other flat against the stone like his back and sword. To some, he might have looked ominous or even ominous, but Hawke could see through his menacing appearance. She knew he hated Hightown as well as his group's contentions, so it was only natural he would want to keep his distance.

He looked breathtaking. She could literally feel the air being stolen from her, and she wasn't sure how to react. She was much more than _**intimidated**_ now. She was panicky. What if she couldn't keep herself together? Cried in front of everyone? How could they look to her as any kind of leader if she lost her composure so easily? Surely that wouldn't deign any kind honor. Even more frightening; what would Fenris do? Would he ignore her? Berate her? Storm off from humiliation? And who knew what would happen after that?

_'…What am I fighting for…?' _

Hawke wasn't given any time to prepare.

Anders had given up on Merrill and thrown his stare in her direction, smiling widely and called out to her.

"Hawke! You're looking radiant as ever, I see."

In slow motion, she saw each one of them turn towards her. Varric was first, and he nodded meaningfully in her direction.

"Get your ass over here Hawke," he smirked. "I've waited long enough for you to show your pretty little face."

Merrill was next, her whole form perking up when she saw her.

"I'm so excited about today. It's rather nice outside. That should be a good sign, shouldn't it? The sun is particularly bright..."

Aveline came afterward, also offering her a smile.

"It isn't like you to sleep in. I was afraid you'd fallen ill. It's good to see I was wrong."

Sebastian followed Aveline, and he mimicked everyone else's beam.

"It's nice to see you well, Hawke."

Isabela fell behind Sebastian, winking at her. She did it often, though this time it seemed more recognizable.

"Seems our fearless leader needed a little push out the door this morning. Luckily enough, I'm an impatient woman, so I got to be the one to do the pushing."

At the sight of her, Fenris jumped from the wall, clearing the gap between him and their group in no time at all. His eyes grabbed her and held on tightly, and he didn't say a word.

But in his eyes, Hawke saw everything.

She finally saw what she was fighting for.

_'If I let myself fall apart now, I don't know what will happen to Fenris or the rest of us. They need me, just like Mother, Bethany and Carver…maybe even more…and…' _

Isabela's words chimed from Hawke's memory.

_"I think it's because he's never been in love before." _

She had to fight to find out if Isabela was right, too.

Hawke bolted toward them, smiling as widely as she could without looking awkward.

"Well, it seems we're all here and accounted for, aren't we? Forgive my sluggishness. And, yes, I know what you're all thinking, and the answer is no, I wasn't drinking last ni—"

"Hawke, have you been crying?" Merrill asked, her lips puckering.

Hawke felt her blood freeze.

"…What?" was all she could say.

Anders leaned in to inspect her face, which caused Hawke to lean back out of instinct.

"She's right. You have tear tracks on your face. Are you all right?"

Hawke's eyes raked over the faces of everyone, all, save for Isabela, had an expression of worry or intrigue on their faces. Isabela's was more expectant. She was curious about what Hawke's excuse was going to be for the tracks of her tears.

But it was Fenris' face that set shivers down her spine. It was an odd mixture of sorrow, interest, and something else. It took Hawke a few beats to identify what it was, but when she did, she felt as though she could hear the heart beats of every living being playing together like an orchestra.

She'd seen it before in the eyes of many.

It was…hope.

She might not be clinging to hope, but he was. There was no mistaking it.

Which, in turn, caused the small bud of hope within her to bloom.

_"I think it's because he's never been in love before." _

Hawke regarded everyone with a wink.

"Nothing to worry about. I'll be all right. Let's get started, shall we?"

Though they were not rushing to start their already half wasted day, Hawke, with assistance from Isabela, managed to convince them to abandon the plight for now and focus on the task at hand. Hawke permitted Isabela to lead, Merrill at her heels, and the rest of the band after her. Hawke stayed behind this time to bring up the rear, but before she could fall into line, she felt a familiar, cold metallic hand grab her by the arm.

Twisting her body around, she met Fenris face to face.

"Hawke—" he started, voice low.

Hawke, not eager to hash their inner feelings out at this juncture, place a hand over his, insinuating the fact that he could let go of her. He caught on in less than a second, and promptly released his hold.

Hawke nodded cheerfully at Fenris, no longer having to fake a smile.

"I'm fine, Fenris. I promise."

"Your face says otherwise."

Hawke shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Does it? What else can my face say? Can you read the Chant on it?"

"Hawke," Fenris was stern this time. "I am asking in earnest. Is there something you wish to…talk about?"

There were so many things she could say to him. Hawke could call him a womanizer; a usurper of love. Threaten to never enter the secret walls of her heart, as he had had a hand in their current crumbling. She could follow the advice she'd been given and declare that he had stolen her womanhood to make sure he felt disgrace for his actions. She could threaten to run into the arms of Sebastian or, for maximum jealously and irritation, Anders.

She could ask him why he left. If he was really afraid of moving on, as Isabela suggested. Did the pain of his past really bother him that much? Did he know how much pain _**he'd **_caused _**her**_? Did he know that he was the first man she'd ever made love to? That he was the only man she ever wanted to make love to? That she treasured the memories of their time together, even if he didn't? Did he run away because he didn't know how to love her? Did he feel _**anything **_for her _**at all**_?

Or she could admit the truth to him. That she was smitten with him in every sense of the word. That she didn't regret the night they shared. That she still longed for him both emotionally and physically. That she'd die for him at any given moment. That thoughts of him plagued her day after day; prowled her sleep. That he was indeed the reason behind the tracks of her tears, and every smile given to him was fabricated to disguise every broken piece of her.

That she wanted him to love her like no man could ever love another woman.

But none of it would satiate her.

Isabela had been right. Unless he came back to her, unless he could confront his evolving infatuations, the only cure for Hawke was time.

And no quarrelling, inquiring or confessing would give her any assurance.

So there was really only one thing she could ask.

"Will you still travel with me?"

At her words, Fenris, with the care one would use for a newborn, took her hand in his, brought it to his lips and dusted the lightest of kisses over her fingers, sending traitorous goose bumps down Hawke's legs. Her mind went to the night they had slept together, how his lips on her bare skin felt so magnificent, and the thought she might melt if she didn't find something block the sun. Once he released it, Hawke balled the fist and forced it to her side, hoping it would help, but to no avail.

Fenris looked at her with trustworthiness in his eyes, and he said only one sentence.

"I remain at your side."

And that was more than she ever could have asked for.


	2. Romance

_**A/N**_: Hey, hey, hey! Hope everyone is having a very special wonderful Valentine's Day! I, myself, have no Valentine to speak of, but that's super ok, cause my mom gets me chocolate on V-Day anyway. XD Sad, right? Anywho, I actually have just recently finished the one-shot for the second word in my series, which happens to be Romance, and I'm updating it today, which happens to be Valentine's Day. Go figure! I totally didn't even realize it until I actually saw the date when I was waiting for the website to load, so I had a little chuckle to myself about my impeccable timing. Go me! Teehee.

So, I've found that the number of one-shots this segment alone will hold, and it's a little over a hundred! I'm completely serious, crazy right! Nah, not so much. But it will get kinda crazy trying to find a song to correlate with every single word, but I'm up for the challenge. BRING IT ON. :D By the way, I loved this song so much for this word. It actually had me tearing up. Not the story, but the song. I'm not that conceited. Lol. But it helped inspire the setting. I hope you guys love it too! I reccommend listening to it while you read. It helps set the mood. Unless you don't like Dashboard Confessional. Which is cool too.

This is a cute little thing, shorter than my last update, told in Fenris' POV. I'm absolutely terrified updating this, because I feel like I'm not going to do him justice. But I did my best, giving him a resonable attitude with a touch of obliviousness (not too much though; I don't think Fenris is Captain Oblivious, he's just not as experienced at reading when a girl likes him unless their blunt). Please let me know if I need to improve! Still haven't given this F!RogueHawke a name...it'll probably be Marian, just because. :P

Thanks for the welcoming reviews! I'm so excited to be writing for the F!Hawke/Fenris community!

Please review! I really do love them. ;)

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><p>Second Movement: <em><strong>Romance<strong>_

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><p>"<em>I watch you spin around in your highest heels. <em>

_You are the best one of the best ones. _

_We all look like we feel. _

_You have stolen my heart." _

**- Dashboard Confessional**, _**"Stolen"**_

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><p>Fenris gulped down two full schooners of spirits in less than thirty seconds. He had hoped it would perk up his mood a bit, but he was sorely mistaken. His ire had only risen, mostly due to the fact that the servant who had offered him the tray of drinks had glared at him with one of the most judgmental looks he had ever seen. And that was an impressive statement, as far as his past life as a slave was concerned. It was part of the reason why he had taken two schooners of wine and two flutes of champagne in the first place. Half out of his own vindictiveness, the other half was because he had established that the more alcohol he had in his system, the less he seemed to worry about petty matters.<p>

But his inkling that, drunk or no, he would not be able to shake this foul mood appeared to be coming true, which further displeased him.

He did not even want to be at this supercilious festivity. He had made it vocal to everyone in the cabal that he thought this gathering would be a waste of his time and theirs, but each one of them paid no heed to his words, and he was forced to clean himself up, put on a smile he was not willing to show, and stand there in a corner like a fool while others congregated in the middle of the room to dance and make merry. Women cackling and chirruping like birds, mean boasting and laughing raucously.

All because of her.

He did think there was a just cause for celebration. Hawke had pulled off a miracle; he was not blind. She had defeated a powerful creature, the leader of the Qunari, in single combat, something that people like Varric regaled to the masses to keep legends alive and children hopeful for the future. She had changed the views of the people of Kirkwall, on top of saving them from being killed by the Arishok. The city, the Kight Commander, the First Enchanter; they all owed her more than just their lives. They owed her for keeping the Qunari from razing the whole city and crushing the morale of the humans that inhabited it. It was no wonder they bequeathed her the title "Champion."

But was this loud, boisterous affair necessary? Nobles from Kirkwall had been thrust into the grand ballroom of the Viscount's keep, a place usually reserved for political business alone; to humbly rejoice in the fact that they were not dead. Then again, he supposed this was technically political business; the only person who was left to take charge of the city was the Knight Commander herself, and she had been the one who proposed the gala initially. It must have been her own way to show that she was ready to arrogate the rights of the Viscount and control Kirkwall. Ridiculous, he thought. The weedy-willed Viscount Dumar brought this upon himself. Humans lacked fortitude when it came to their emotions. Because he could not gather enough courage, full scale war almost broke out across the Free Marches. How in Thedas an idiot like that came to hold a position of power was a mystery to him.

A sharp pang of guilt rippled in his chest. Was he really in any position to talk? He had no idea what the Viscount had suffered when he had been told his son was killed. Though Fenris had had a family once, he was sure, he could not remember them, and therefore could not feel acute sorrow for the lack thereof. Taking it one step further, he had no children to speak of as well. At least, none that he knew existed. He could not feel empathy for a father when he only knew the definition of the word. He had heard parents say that they would give their lives for their children at any moment, and the Viscount was never given the chance to even bargain with the horrible Chantry mother who had murdered Seamus. Perhaps he had arbitrated to quickly…?

Hawke's face slunk to the front of his mind.

No. He was not erroneous for judging. Hawke had gone through something ten times worse than the Viscount. She had lost her father at a young age, seen her brother mutilated by an ogre, was forced to leave her sister with a man she did not know, and had held her mother as she died from the twisted desires of a blood mage. The poor girl had truly been to the Void and back, but she had the pluck to persevere and search for peace with the Arishok; to try to rescue and assist others in need. She was the reason why all these obnoxious humans were in this chamber today, drinking and dancing like tomorrow would never come, and the Viscount was dead. That was proof enough for him where the strength could be stumbled upon in this dismal place.

Hawke was the power in this city. Not Meredith or Dumar. And she deserved it. She was capable, quick on her feet, fearless, unprejudiced, beautiful…

'…_Beautiful…' _

Fenris snatched up a champagne flute and emptied its contents, barely tasting what he was putting in his mouth. He had to pull his mind away from that place. He could not tread that path any longer.

He had strayed from it long ago.

Pulling his gaze away from his feet, he cast his eyes out towards the audience facing him. He recognized a few people that he did not know personally; they would often walk the same route as he when traveling to and from home, since he lived in his own estate in Hightown, or, it was his as of three years ago. They appeared to be happy, though some were unquestionably "sloshed", as Isabela would say. He made out Sebastian, the Starkhaven bowman, no beverage in his hand, but he was, indubitably, having a splendid time speaking with the crowd forming around him. There was a great smile plastered on his face, and a few younger girls were gaping at him, hanging on every word that came out of his mouth, though he seemed to ignore them entirely, which Fenris considered to be rather funny. Not too far away from Sebastian was Aveline was sniggering with a small company of her guardsman who had made the guest list, no doubt , her new beau Donnic on her on her right. Even at events such as these, she could not be found too far from her work. That made him smirk. She was a creature of comfort. They had that in common.

Varric had clustered a group of nobles in the corner opposite Fenris, his eyes dilated and his hands gesturing wildly. There was no need for Fenris to try and figure out what Varric was saying; it was another outlandish tale about Hawke. He always looked the exact same whenever he pleased new listeners. One in a while, he would listen to the stories himself; just to see how much of a distance there was between the truth and his idea of the truth. Varric never failed to make Fenris squint in disbelief. He never knew someone who had such a knack with exaggerating. But, Fenris had to admit it was something he liked about the dwarf. Varric definitely amused him.

Isabela was absent from the assembly. She had used the excuse that she did not drink and revel with nobles on Hawke, but Fenris did not believe a word of it. Isabela had not shaken her humiliation of double crossing the rest of them. He could see it in her eyes, read it in her motions. She always kept to the back when Hawke took the front, and vice versa. Isabela sought to believe that there was some kind of unseen wall between the two of them because she was afraid that Hawke would eventually turn on her and either slit her throat or demand that she leave for good. To Fenris, Isabela had all intention to fear. Hawke was much kinder to her than he would have been. While he may not have let the Arishok take her back to Par Vollen, he would not have shown Isabela the courtesy that Hawke had.

But it was not his place to decide. He was merely a follower, not a leader, and was content to be so. For now.

Closer to the middle of the room was the Witch, her eyes glittering as she stared at the myriad of glasses on the tables that lined the expansive room, all shapes and sizes, each one partially filled with different tinted wines, champagnes and liquors. How she could be so fascinated with something so minimal and still be able to consort with demons was beyond him. It made her stupidity even more palpable. It should not have irritated him to this extent, but as they were the only two elves at this party, save for Hawke's hired hand, Orana, the humans would judge all elves by their exploits while this massive rendezvous continued. With his standoffish tendencies, Orana's position as a domestic and the Witch's insufferable ignorance, it made them all looked like doe-eyed, unfriendly servants. And he was _**no one's**_ servant.

Fenris snatched up the last of his champagne and knocked it back. Ignoring it would be the best course of action. It was always the best course of action.

He could not wait to leave.

Setting the flute back down, with a noisy thump, he cast his eyes to the very center of the room, where the dancing was taking place.

And he felt his heart skip a beat.

She was like a single flower blooming in the snow; something that could make you gasp from shock and smile out of pure wonder. She wore a long, comely red dress—a lighter shade than the wine; this was more like a rose red—and it clung to her curvaceous form in such a way that it made her look even more voluptuous, which he didn't even know was conceivable. Black lace adorned all of the skin above her chest; what was supposed to be the collar and the sleeves of the dress had been modified to show more of her peachy skin, as it was relatively visible through the lace itself. Her wavy blond hair had been pulled into a taut, elegant bun atop her head, the black jewels pinned to her locks flickering sporadically in the candle and firelight. Her cheeks had been augmented with rouge, her lips with carmine. It made her blue eyes, which were already a rare shade, come across as distinct and alluring compared to all the red and black.

Hawke was breath-taking. Awe-inspiring. He felt as though he had been walking and someone had taken the solid floor from beneath him. Never before had he gazed at a woman, human or elven, as perfect as she.

'…_Words elude me…' _he thought in Arcanum. _'…Loveliness personified…' _

Time stopped. The chatter around him became muffled; an undertone compared to what it once was. Everything in the room misplaced its color, excluding her. He became so aware of the beating of his heart that he could feel it racing on the balls of his feet. She was so beautiful. How could he not have noticed that sooner?

But he did notice it sooner. Much sooner than here. He had seen how appealing she had been since the first moment he had laid eyes on her. Her full lips, the sea that rolled in her eyes, her golden hair, the velvety sound of her voice. He had yearned to drown himself in her. Wake up every morning to that smile, those eyes, that voice saying his name…

'…_No,' _He tried to rationalize with himself. _'…You released her. You have let her go…' _

But did he really want her to go?

Evidently not. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before. That amorous night that had seemed like centuries ago was still fresh to him; a cut that still bled. Her kiss, her touch, her sighs. He kept those memories close to him when he began to feel browbeaten or deterred. His stint with her had been brief, but he would not have traded it for a lifetime. He longed for her in spite of everything, even more so now at her most luxurious, but he could not have her. She had been his once, and he had let her slip through his fingers without even realizing what he had done. She had asked for him to stay, and he didn't even turn around to tell her how badly he desired to say it. He truly was a fool, and if Hawke was as intelligent as she looked, she would do good to harbor anger and distrust towards him. It was sensible, tactful. She would save herself from getting hurt again, and he would be punished by having to look at her during moments like this and berate himself for turning his back on true love.

It was only fair, he admitted.

But that didn't mean that he had to lock his feelings away.

He blinked, and sound and color washed over him like an ocean wave. It came back stalwart; so rapidly that it made his ears and eyes ache to such an extent, he had to turn away from her. The alcohol was not exactly auspicious at this moment either. Luckily, it took a great deal of wine and champagne to get him harebrained. As he casted his eyes back to where Hawke had been before, he felt a spike of terror slice through him as soon as he discovered she was no longer there. Instantaneously, he straightened his body, poised it into a defensive position, and scanned the room as hastily as he could for her. He did not trust wealthy, lecherous bigots to treat a woman as fine as she with any type of respect, and he would rip out as many organs as he could to make sure Hawke was safe and content.

And then he spotted her, and he felt his heart sink into his stomach.

_**Of course**_ she was dancing with the Abomination. Because the Maker could not let Fenris have just one night of total amity. Watching the cheery scene made him grind his teeth together. Under the glimmering chandelier, Hawke and Anders danced strongly and harmoniously, the latter grinning as though he had just been given one hundred sovereigns for being alive as long as he had. Hawke was not as visibly pleased as he, which helped Fenris to regain his composure, but there was an aura of happiness around her; he had chosen to become attune to the revolutions of her moods. The Abomination spun her, the skirt of Hawke's dress twirling along with her, splaying out like a tent around her feet, showing off a pair of black heeled shoes. It made her look elegant. Lithe.

And it made him sick.

It was one thing to lose her to someone like Sebastian or Varric, but it was a totally different story when it came to Anders. Fenris would rather die than leave her in the hands of that mage. He was possessed by some demon of vengeance, which made him precarious. He had seen his lack of control, though Anders claimed there were no problems with his domination over Justice. Lies. Abominations could never be straightforward or faithful. They cared for their own selfish gain, nothing more. And all Anders chased after was freedom for mages and Hawke's unwavering affection; a suitable example.

Fenris had never been the jealous type of man, at least not that he could remember, but Hawke awoke many new things in him, some beasts that he did not even like. But they were things he could not stop, did not want to stop. His jealously towards Anders being one of those things. Fenris could not keep Hawke from falling for him, though. He had squandered his stab at capturing her heart, and the Abomination was taking full advantage of that.

Soon, the song they danced to began to fade, and, ultimately, came to a complete halt. Fenris felt an enthusiastic itch worming down his back. The music would soon collect itself and restart. This was his chance. It was not that he wanted to dance with Hawke, per se, but an opening to separate Hawke and Anders from each other. Hawke being within an arm's length of an Abomination did not sit well with him. If he offered Hawke a dance, he would know she was secure and would not have to threaten Anders to get her away from him. It solved the problem with no confrontation, which is the way it should have been, considering their environment.

He, undeniably and positively, was not doing it because he fancied a dance with her.

He moved like a cloud of smoke through the dense blockades of humans, gracefully dodging a numerous amount of potential crushed toes to get to her as fast as possible.

He was right behind her shortly, and he could hear the soothing peal of her laughter even though they were surrounded on all sides by noisy invitees. Anders was the first one to detect him, and they shared a brief glare. He was the first one to waver, and he politely regarded Hawke right afterwards.

"Looks like you've got another gentleman caller. Come find me if you want to talk."

Hawke didn't immediately turn around, for Anders, with all his charm, seized her hand and placed a most chaste kiss upon her fingers. Fenris growled low, deep in his throat, loud enough so that Anders could hear; Fenris hoped so, anyway. Anders locked eyes with him once more, winking at him as though he believed they were lifelong friends as he stalked off to Varric's corner of the room. He had done so on purpose, to provoke him. Wished for him to think that he was going to steal Hawke out from under his nose and was proud to do so.

But the joke was on him, for there was nothing for him to steal.

He had let Hawke go freely.

It didn't take her long to discern it was him. She had barely turned around before she started talking.

"I'm surprised to see you out here. You've been in that bloody corner drinking all night."

Fenris cleared his throat and tried to hide his smile; he was glad she had noticed him.

"I have no cause to be sociable. Even the servants regard me with disdain."

Hawke folded her arms across her chest, and Fenris stealthily admired her lacy arms.

"Do you think that might have something to do with you looking like a livid drunkard? They probably thought you were just here for the wine."

"They would not be completely incorrect," he stated with gumption.

Hawke winked at him, and he felt his ears get warm.

"As long as you're not trying to paint the walls again, I've got no qualms with how much you drink. Did you need something?"

Fenris suddenly felt as though he had walked outside in his smallclothes. He came here fully prepared to ask Hawke to dance with him, but all of the nerve that had driven him to approach her had dwindled to faint ashes. This reminded him vaguely of that night months before; all the feelings he had for her coming to a head in one heated moment of passion, and how he just turned on his heels and discarded what relationship they did have like a broken sword. How did he have the gall to insist who she should and should not spend time with? What made it fair for him to just imagine he would be granted a dance just as long as he asked first? He had presumed too much.

But here, surrounded by dim light and sweet sound, he had never seen her so magnificent. A jewel discovered amongst dirt and grime. And that helped him recover what he had lost. Who could not resist her? Who could not be daring and ask for her hand at least once? It was a gamble, but he was no coward. To walk away now would be spinelessness, a frittered opportunity at experiencing her wonder up close. Just this once, he would presume.

Fenris pulled his chin up. "I came to request a dance with you, Hawke."

Incredulity flourished on Hawke's face, and Fenris felt himself jerk a little. Was that delight strewn amongst the surprise on her countenance?

"Of course you can dance with me, Fenris." The tone in Hawke's voice went up an octave.

"I—ahem—thank you…"

The music had already recommenced, though the melody for this piece was much slower than the one that Hawke and Anders had danced to. Fenris watched Hawke's face. Her eyes darted to and fro before she took one step closer to him, closing the gap small between them. He was near enough that he could see the light-colored skin of her shoulders through the thin lace overlay; could smell her strong, freesia-scented perfume wafting in the air, and it made him as giddy as any wine would.

She bit her bottom lip shyly; he could not think of an appropriate word to describe it, but he settled on charming. That was the best term to define what it had invoked within him.

"Do you know the steps? It's perfectly fine if you don't, we'll just look like we're both drunk. I almost tripped Anders a few minutes ago."

That got a grin out of him. "That I would have enjoyed seeing."

"I'm sure you would have, as well as my own stumbling."

"It depends on whether or not you fell. Actually, no, you are correct. I would have enjoyed seeing that as well."

Hawke snorted. "Maybe I should trip you too, then."

"Ah, but since I would be leading, then I would have to take you down with me," he quipped.

"Lying on the floor like fools together, eh? I suppose that's fair."

"Of course it is. But, fortunately enough for you, I do know the basics."

Fenris offered his hand to her, hoping that she would not perceive the slight shaking in his knees. He did know uncomplicated steps, but it had been years since he had danced at a formal occasion. While Danarius did not let him do much, there was a certain amount of etiquette that he had to be taught in order to make the magister not look like a total barbarian. Fenris, more often than not, loathed all of the things he was forced to do and learn while under his master's heel, but, during cases such as these, he found them quite useful. Was almost grateful for them.

He became tremendously aware of his arms when Hawke took his hands. The sensation of her skin on his traveled through his nerves all the way up to his elbow. He could even feel it in his markings. Grasping one hand, he allowed her to rest the other on his shoulder, and he placed his free hand on her hip, the curve of it memorable for him. Four freckles she had there, he recollected, two darker than the others. Freckles. She had some on her face as well. Most of them on the fleshiest parts of her cheeks. Freckles. There were a few on her back as well, between her shoulder blades...

He could name the location of every freckle on her, he realized.

Fenris cleared his throat to block out the images. It was rude and improper to think of such things. Hawke would not want a man she was no longer involved with knowing it, to boot. How had he learned all the eccentricities of her body in the first place?

Because he wanted to. It was that simple.

They moved a bit stiffly at first, Hawke trying to find her bearings. In the faint light, he could make out a slight blush daubed on her visage. She was nervous, but why? If anything, he should have been the nervous one. It was he who had hurt her, he who had given, and still would give, her more trouble to add to her collection. He had half expected to have been rejected as soon as he had made himself known. But she had accepted without even deliberating on all the things that he had done wrong to her. Her kindness was an ever-flowing river, and that almost made him angry. Was she vamping him? She could not be…

Hawke stepped on his foot, breaking up his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking quite self-conscious.

Fenris focused on Hawke. No. He could see the rectitude in her eyes. This was no game. Perhaps she was nervous because she was not a good dancer, as evidenced by her two left feet. But…no. That could not be it. She had been good-humored with Anders, and he was just as horrible a dancer as she…

Fenris almost stopped them completely. He was ashamed of his own obliviousness. Of course she was edgy when dancing with someone who actually knew what they were doing when she did not. Hawke did have a reputation to uphold; it was extremely understandable. He chuckled as quietly as he could to himself. He could not exactly blame her. He never enjoyed people believing he was puerile at sophisticated functions, even when he was a slave. Fenris sympathized with her, and decided to offer his assistance.

It was the least he could do for someone he cared for.

"You are trying to lead, Hawke. You must allow me; it is the job of the male."

"Oh, so women can't lead, can they?" Hawke peered up at him; a jest.

"I am sure that they can, but not in dancing. It is not proper custom."

"Isn't that a bit sexist?"

"It has nothing to do with that. Males are taller; stronger. Therefore, it is easier for them to guide a woman across the dance floor because they are so light and easy to carry."

"Men lead because their better suited for it," Hawke rolled her eyes. "Not the best of arguments, Fenris."

Fenris could not help but adore her smarminess. He really did not know why. It was probably because she had been the first one to talk to him in such a way.

"Perhaps I should demonstrate? Shall I throw you over my shoulder and carry you around the room until you understand?"

"And how can you be sure I won't fight back?"

"Oh, I am hoping you will. How else would we draw attention to ourselves?"

"You want everyone to see me thrashing around while you try to restrain me? Wouldn't that look a bit too much like you were trying to manhandle me?"

"If they asked, I would certainly be honest and say I was teaching you about the strength of men."

"What's to stop me from turning against you?"

Fenris bristled. "Would you? Truly?"

Humor danced in her eyes. "No. But only because you look so mortified."

Fenris laughed, heartily and true. They could go around in circles forever, and he would never get tired of their playful banter. She was such a joy in his life, as if happiness had never really existed within him up until the day they had first met. Hawke had been the one to find the light that had been extinguished in his heart and taken the time to try and spark a flame that he had never had in his entire life. It was his blessing and his curse.

And it was a curse because he had forbidden the light-maker from her work.

Yet here she was, allowing him to traipse her around a dance floor, speaking and teasing him as though absolutely nothing had happened between them. But was that because she was trying to move on, or had she already moved on? He found himself craving an answer to that question.

What if she had moved on, what would he do?

What would he do if she had _**not **_moved on?

Had he moved on? Maker, no.

'…_I will never move on…' _

Fenris stopped breathing.

He would never move on, would he?

Hawke suddenly felt so diminutive in his arms. It was her. It would always be her. Now and forever. That was why everything ceased to be when he had seen her radiance for the first time tonight, why his rage had boiled over when he had seen her with Anders. Why he felt so dizzy from her perfume, why her touch made him weak. Why he felt she deserved respect, why he wanted so desperately to dance with her. Why he felt compelled to protect her, to be near her, to remember every indistinct feature of her body.

She had taken the part of him that cared for anything and hidden it within her, and now she was the only thing he ever coveted in this life he had built after fleeing slavery.

The music petered out, or it must have, since Hawke had immobilized both of them. She drew her hands from his form, and he had, not once, felt such an overwhelming absence. His hand, however, had remained firmly attached to her hip, and he was not planning on removing it.

Hawke looked down at it quizzically, then back up at him, curiosity flitting across her face.

Fenris met her eyes, locking her in a gawk. Neither of them wavered. He did not want them to. Not after he had uncovered the truth. How could he have been so blind?

He loved her, and that loved fulminated inside him like a fire.

And he had to tell her. After his gaffe, if he could confess, the weight of fault on him would vanish.

And, maybe, just maybe, she might reciprocate.

"Hawke," Fenris said unhurriedly, steadily.

Hawke's face flushed redder than the band wrapped around his wrist. She was incredibly feminine, then. Like a normal girl who had been confronted by a handsome, enigmatic man. She had looked the exact same when they made love. He felt pleased that he could create this in her, and it only added to his resolve. Her breathing became so heavy that he could make out the rise and fall of her bosom, though he could not hear it over the chatter of Kirkwall natives.

The world had been emptied except for the two of them.

This was the time. It had to be now. It was too impeccable, too romantic. He had to let her know. If he did not, he would never be able to live with himself.

Fenris inclined his head as close as he could to Hawke, eyeing her pink lips, leaving little room amid their faces, her breath tickling his nose. She did not move a bit; he had turned her to supple stone. Yes, he elected. This was it.

Just loud enough for her, he murmured.

"You have stolen my heart."


	3. Beauty

_**A/N: **_Well ello there! So, yeah, I just wanted to say that I went through hell and back for this entry. Haha, not really of course, But it did take FOREVER to finish and to post. Half because I just wasn't feeling out the story well, and the other half because, apparently, fanfiction dot net and my computer weren't seeing eye to eye. So it, like, 2am here on the east coast, and I'm just posting this thing now.

The word this movement was beauty, and I took an interesting path with this, because my brain goes to weird places, and this time it went to: "I wonder if F!Hawke thought she was too much of a tomboy?" Then WHAM-this thing! This entry should be classified as F!RogueHawke/Fenris fluff. I'm kinda a closet Billy Joel fan (not so much now XD), which means I knew immediately what song I wanted to use.

I made Fenris kinda pervy in this (because I personally think he is perverted, judging from all his flirting in the game, he just does it when he and Hawke are alone), so I hope no one minds me winding in that direction. I think I stayed true to the character Fenris speaks only one word of Arcanum/Tevinter in this (several times, though), and I used Latin instead of the real language. There's not much to go on for the language (even after reading up on it on the DA wiki) and I don't understand linguistic jargon, so I figured I'd try something Google Translate could help me with. XP

Also, there is a scene where Hawke and Fenris get a lil' frisky, but it's NOT A LEMON. I don't write graphic sex, I'm not comfortable with it, and this is the closest I've ever gotten to anything like it. It's just a little snippet of sensuality, nothing more.

Please, please, PLEASE review! I do want to know if I'm just not getting it, and any help would be appreciated!

Enjoy! ;)

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><p>Third Movement: <em><strong>Beauty<strong>_

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><p>"<em>I'll take you just the way you are<em>_.__  
><em>_Don't go trying some new fashion__. __  
><em>_Don't change the color of your hair__. __  
><em>_You always have my unspoken passion__.__  
><em>_Although, I might not seem to care__."_

**- Billy Joel, **_**"Just The Way You Are"**_

* * *

><p>Hawke raked her fingers through the snarls in her hair that morning instead of taking a brush to them. Trifling wish such niceties when she had been unsuccessful waking up on time to drop by the Comte and Comtesse to find that blasted mage boy of theirs for the Knight-Commander was squandering time that couldn't afford to be squandered. As a replacement for of bathing, Hawke hurriedly splashed some of the expensive lilac-scented perfume that her mother had given her for her birthday during the year she had reclaimed the Amell mansion on her neck, arms and even some just between her cleavage, but that was mostly to help the armor, which she had forgotten to clean, smell less like sweat and more like flowers.<p>

It failed miserably. But Hawke couldn't dawdle.

As soon as she was fully dressed and armed, Hawke dashed towards the stairs, sliding down the banister (a cute trick Isabela had taught her), for she had no patience to use the steps. Late didn't even begin to describe how badly she had missed her appointment with the de Launcets, and she was certain that the Orlesian nobles would rather slam the door in her face than talk to her, let alone confess any information about their newly appointed apostate son Emile. But she couldn't forgo trying. She didn't like Meredith as much as the next person, by the tyrant of a Templar leader had been right that these mages could be dangerous, and she, if not killing them, had to distinguish whether or not they were as daring as the Knight-Commander claimed.

And she knew nothing of any of them, her punctuality threatening to cement her cluelessness about Emile de Launcet.

Bodahn, her kindly, self-appointed dwarven manservant, was standing by the fireplace that he loved ever so much with a glinting silver tray garnished with an array of foodstuffs. He was standing straighter than an arrow, a jolly sparkle in both of his grey eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bodahn, but I'm afraid—"

"Oh, I'm quite aware, Messare," Bodahn chuckled in a way that reminded Hawke of a grandfather; it melted her heart. "You slept like a rock last night! I imagine you were exhausted dealing with those Antivan assassins yesterday."

Irritation nipped zealously at her. If he had known she was sleeping in, why in the name of Andraste had he not wondered or checked to see if she had any engagements to keep? Taking a profound breath, Hawke tried to dispel her ire. It was her robust ignominy and nothing else. Pointing the blame on Bodahn wasn't fair to him. She was an adult; she'd been on her own for three years now. It was her job to wake herself up, to remember her appointments, to keep herself punctual, not Bodahn's.

"I'm afraid I did," Hawke grabbed at the cold piece of toast on the plate in Bodahn's grasp. "Too much, in fact, and now I'm running very late."

"Yes, Messare Fenris seemed to be in a hurry when he arrived here this morning."

Hawke arrested mid-bite. "Fenris is here? In the mansion? Right now?"

Bodahn smiled impishly. "He was _**very**_ insistent that he see you, Serah, but I persuaded him to let you sleep. He's quite taken with you, isn't he?"

Hawke couldn't help but blush at that. "It would seem so. Thank you for the breakfast, Bodahn, I'm so sorry I couldn't enjoy it. I promise that I will repay you by cooking for you tomorrow. I can't promise that it won't be partially burnt, however."

Bodahn's eyes widened, as though Hawke had told him nugs could fly. "Oh, no, Messare, there's no need for that. I'm happy to be of service to you and your fine home. And Sandal as well, isn't that right, m'boy?"

Sandal, who had previously had his finger shoved far up his nose, regarded his father, and, without removing it, said: "I like Hawke."

"Just so." Bodahn nodded encouragingly at his son.

Hawke let a grin shape her face. Bodahn taking care of her, Fenris waiting in the other room, Sandal…being Sandal. It almost made her forget that she was in huge trouble and that suspected blood mages were wreaking havoc in Kirkwall.

Almost.

Hawke took one bite out of the cold bread, chewing emphatically. It actually didn't taste as bad as she thought it would. With benevolence, she gave one last wave to her dwarven companions before heading out into the main hall that led to her front door. As soon as she had crossed the archway, the sight of Fenris, her handsome elven lover and dearest friend, filled her vision and sharpened her breathing. He was always such a wonderful sight to behold, especially after a night when he declined to stay. Lissome with a chiseled jaw, smoldering eyes, a voice like alabaster and a kiss sweeter than cream. He was sitting immobile and straight, his head resting against the wall and his eyes were shut tight. That made Hawke's lips purse. Was he tired? Or meditating? Fenris didn't meditate…did he?

'_Only one way to find out.' _

"Hello, stranger," she said seductively, after she had swallowed her mouthful of crispy bread.

At the sound of her words, the former slave's eyes burst open like moonflowers at midnight, and he flew right out of his seat to stand at her side. Fenris was smiling now, adoration spilling out of him like mana from a casting mage. A hand reached out to cup her face, and she permitted it, his touch sending a remedial energy into her, coursing through her blood, waylaying the trepidation she had felt mere seconds earlier. With all the care in the world, he pressed his soft lips to the corner of her mouth; a kiss feather light, but it was enough to send chills to the tips of every strand of her white-gold hair.

"You are behind schedule, _carissimi_. And you smell delightful; like flowers…"

"I better," she winked. "I put on a tincture of lilac; a gift from my mother."

Fenris head tilted; he was so cute when he looked curious.

"Why? Is there some special occasion?"

"Well, if you consider not wanting to smell like dirt special, then yes."

Fenris sniffed once, then twice.

"The Hanged Man smells of dirt. You do not, Hawke."

Hawke waved off his comment. "I appreciate the sentiment. This armor needs a washing, but, as you so cleverly pointed out, I couldn't be later for our chat with the de Launcets. So I suppose this will have to do."

Fenris snorted, allowing his smirk to restore. "Insist what you will, _carissimi_, but I smell nothing but your skin and your lilacs."

"By the way," Hawke pointed at him with her toast-hand. "What are you calling me?"

"You are speaking of the name?" Fenris said matter-of-factly, his arms stiff at his sides. "_Carissimi_. It is Arcanum for 'beloved'."

"How sweet," Hawke tried to appear lighthearted, but the butterflies in her stomach fluttered with an increased speed at the knowledge of her new pet name. "And here I thought you were calling me lazy."

"Ah," Fenris chuckled darkly, "Shall I then? But, I must warn you, if names _**are**_ fair game, then I will have to call you variants of snide, overly-trusting and easily-distracted as well."

Try as she might to make a witty counter, the sound of his voice coupled with the devil-may-care stare he gave her made her legs feel like jelly. How in Thedas had she sanctioned him to seize this much control over her? She must have done it without realizing it. Mother mentioned something similar about love once when she was in Lothering; when Kirkwall was not home. How it sneaks up on you when you least expect it, and that once you had been caught in its snare, you would never be able to free yourself. Yes, this must be what she had implied.

"Oh, you wound me," Hawke placed a gentle hand over her heart, endeavoring to retort. "Now you must teach me Arcanum for stoic and moody."

"If you see me as stoic and moody, it has not stopped you from running into my arms." Fenris began to make his way towards the exit of her home, grin flaring.

At least he was attempting to keep her on track.

Hawke followed suit, opening the door for the both of them as they shuffled out into the busy streets of Kirkwall. Bloated, clumpy clouds hovered high in the blue sky, moving at a snail's pace to try and block the sun. They were not torrential in nature; none of them had any traces of darkness. A thin breeze drifted through the masses of people and thick stone, giving the normally fetid air a comforting freshness. It was strong enough to tousle Fenris' glowing tresses, causing them to flop in a very attractive manner around his head and face. It made Hawke want to curl her toes in her boots.

"You didn't seem to mind my crawling back," Hawke whispered when she closed the gap between them, taking his arm and decided that he would escort her to the rest of their gang of rebels.

He leaned into her as they walked, lips grazing her ear and sending shivers to the top and bottom of her spine.

"There is no place I'd rather have you."

Hawke bit her lip to keep from giggling like a silly girl. For her to be this capricious was completely out of character. Even in Lothering during the height of her youth, she could never recall a stint where a boy had made her want to giggle, or even blush for that matter. But, then again, there had not been any boy or man she had ever met that could hold a candle to Fenris. He was reserved, yet passionate. Patient, yet excitable. Harsh, yet understanding. Perfection, she decided. It was perfection, if the word ever had merit.

Hawke looked up from gazing at their feet stepping in synchronization to see where he had taken her. To her relief, they had not gone too far. Fenris hadn't been wrong, she was a bit too easily distracted, and they only way to remedy that was to force herself to focus, though it was much more difficult to do so when Fenris was in such a close proximity. All she really wanted to do right now was to talk to him. Kiss him, if he would let her. Beyond that, if she could convince him to abscond to one of their mansions with her. How she craved to run her hands through the soft mound of his hair, take in the wild aroma of his skin…

Focus was slipping from her nevertheless.

Hawke gave her head a light shake and assessed her surroundings. They were already in front of the cold, hard steps that lead to the de Launcet's Kirkwall estate. Her eyes meandered up them, and found Isabela and Anders, both standing at the top of the broad staircase, and they didn't notice Hawke and Fenris approaching. Anders was waist deep in a story from his days as a Warden in Amaranthine, though only a few words were able to make it to her ears, none of which made any sense. Isabela, in spite of this, was quite enamored with the story, as she would interrupt the blond apostate every sentence or so to make a pensive inquiry.

It didn't take her long to catch a glimpse of them approaching however. Isabela greeted the both of them with a warped wave, but her mouth twisted into a rascally bow at the sight of them together, though Hawke was confused as to why.

"Well, now," She leaned towards Anders, who had no emotion on his face. "Don't they adorable arm in arm?"

Hawke and Fenris stiffened. They glanced downward, saw both Hawke's arms wrapped caringly about his left, let their eyes dart to each other's faces, blushed profusely and skittered about half a foot apart from each other. Hawke rubbed the flipside of her head in a sheepish fashion, while Fenris kept his eyes away from Isabela and Anders.

Isabela giggled at their discomposure; Anders rolled his eyes, though, like Hawke and Fenris, there was a red color dusting his cheeks, albeit faintly.

"So, now that were all feeling awkward, what do you say we barge in there? They are Orlesian, you know. If we're lucky, we'll get really exotic food and maybe get to romp with some of them."

"Is that always the first thought that comes to your mind when we meet new people?" Hawke asked with an ambiguous layer of seriousness. "'Maybe if they like us enough we can bed some of them?' "

"Not every time!" Isabela defended herself, an amused smile on her face. "Just the majority of it."

Hawke laughed. Fenris grunted in disapproval. Anders pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Let's just hurry this up," Anders sighed, eyeing the blue and white sky wistfully. "Today would have been a good day to just take a walk along the coast."

"I would not oppose that idea," Hawke held her hands up. "I'm late enough as it is. If my guess about how this will go is correct, we'll be here for five minutes and then we can all go. Maybe even have a picnic!"

"I'd rather not sit through you and Fenris making puppy eyes at each other while you feed him grapes with his head in your lap." Isabela taunted, examining her nails.

"I second that," Anders folded his arms.

Fenris placed a thumb and forefinger on his chin. "I am suddenly famished. And tired. Hawke, I agree to this picnic. I will go and buy grapes from the grocers in Kirkwall."

Fenris' tongue-in-cheek approach elated her. She wanted to get this mess with the Comte and Comtesse out of her hair, however, so she took charge of the group by walking up the stairs to the home of the de Launcets, knocking with speed and power on the door to their Kirkwall manor.

"Won't that be a little expensive, Fenris? There goes all your coin on grapes."

"If you feed them to me as Isabela suggests, then it will be worth it."

Her teeth clamped on her bottom lip for a second time. Could he even fathom the way his words affected her? How they made her drunk on his love, so much so that it would almost make her lose her control in front of so many just so that she could express it to him fully? She established that half the reason why he even agreed to such a ludicrous proposal was to rile up Anders, but she couldn't ignore the sliver of truth concealed in the raillery. It wasn't that he wanted her to feed him or be his servant, it was that he wanted her to treat him like a lover, not a friend. A request that she was willing to comply with, no if's and's or but's about it.

Before she could respond to his statement, a lanky man answered the door. He was human, and Hawke remarked right away that his muddy brown eyes were very close together on his face. It made him seem as though he were flat, making Hawke want to ask him to turn to the side to see if he would vanish. It was definitely a man, but he was not old; Hawke would have bet on age thirty-three. His lips were rather red for a male, and he had a mustache almost as reedy and short as sewing needles. Something about his strange look set her off kilter.

"I-I am the Champion of Kirkwall. I'm here to speak to the Comte or Comtesse. I on official business from the Knight Commander in regards to one Emile de Launcet." Hawke said in her professional voice.

The doorman blinked, and Hawke swore one eye closed faster than the other. "Ah, Messare Hawke. I did hear the Comte mention your name in passing. I'm afraid that he has left for the day, but the Comtesse and her children have not left. Please enter."

Moving as though his knees could not bend, the eccentric servant dragged the door open so that the mansion was completely visible. The four of them shuffled through the threshold, and Hawke let her eyes roam over the abode. It was grandiose; unlike any home she had ever lived in, including the Amell estate; the ceilings were higher, wider, and, at least in the foyer, there were at least three paintings on each wall. Some of landscapes, some of men and women wearing gaudy hats and jewelry, and some of vibrant, abstract shapes. Flowers were set on the tables by the paintings, the color matching their canvas partners. It stank of daisies, cinnamon and strawberries, which was, unexpectedly, repulsive to her.

"I will go speak to the Comtesse. Please remain here, Champion of Kirkwall."

In the same manner, he scurried off into the cavernous recesses of the mansion, but not before being stopped in his tracks by a thin, dark haired woman whose skin appeared as though it hadn't seen the sun in months. There was liveliness in her eyes, but frown lines strewn on her forehead. She was skinny, nowhere near as shapely as herself, but Hawke would be lying if she stated the girl wasn't pretty. She was prim and graceful, and Hawke was a bit envious of that.

"Gerard," the tenor in her voice, added with her accent, was pleasing to the ear. "Who was there at the door?"

Gerard, the odd doorman, motioned to Hawke with a flick of his wrists.

"The Champion of Kirkwall, my lady."

The girl's face fell. "Oh. I see. Well, I suppose I can entertain her until you return. But, please, do hurry Gerard."

Hawke, as quietly as she could, grated her teeth from frustration.

What Hawke assumed to be one of the de Launcet children descended the stairs to meet her at a pace between fast and slow, implicating with a nod to come into the main room of the de Launcet estate. Hawke held one hand up to her companions, expecting they would understand her implications to wait in the vestibule. It must have worked, since not one of them followed. She didn't want them too near, but she did want them in hearing distance.

Hawke, when she was close enough to the girl, bowed courteously.

"You are charming, my lady,"

"Yes," The woman gave her a nod, letting the politeness die.

Hawke compelled a tiny simper.

"Thank you for being kind enough to entertain a guest such as I, Serah…?"

She let the question hang. The pretty girl scrutinized her, and Hawke felt small beneath her gaze. Though Hawke herself was aristocracy, she could not shake the peasant life she had become accustomed to in Lothering. In her youth, she had longed to be a princess or a lady, but, as she aged, she was grateful to her mother for keeping her away from glamor that came with nobility. It gave her character, made her care for fellow men, and it kept her from turning into someone like this pompous Orlesian daughter.

Completely disregarding the inquisition for names, the girl took one step back from Hawke, clasping her own hand and holding them up to her bosom.

"You look positively disheveled."

Hawke clenched her jaw. _**Of course**_ she had to perceive her bedraggled attire.

"Forgive me, my lady, I—"

"And you smell of chaos."

Hawke blinked at that.

"I-excuse me, I didn't quite catch that, my lady; I smell of _**what**_?"

"_**Cha**_-_**os**_," the de Launcet spoke as if Hawke had asked the question in a different language.

"I wasn't aware chaos had a fragrance," Hawke let her facetiousness get the best of her.

Which was not good.

"Well, you embody it, Andraste as my witness!" the de Launcet huffed. "Are you not an Amell? Nobility?"

"I—"

"And yet you carry yourself as though you were a poor beggar. Do you even know what a mirror is? Your hair is a mess, your clothes are stained with sweat and grime, and you reek of rotten fruit."

Mortification froze Hawke in place.

"You act like a man! You are a woman, and women do not let themselves flounder in filth, Serah. You are the Champion of Kirkwall, and you represent this city in such a slovenly fashion? I'm surprised they haven't implore you to groom yourself hourly, if this is an example of the way you carry yourself!"

Hawke could only gawp at her, eyes the size of dinner plates, each word out of her like a stinging slap to her pride and a cruel cut to her femininity. And her dear friends were hearing every word of it. Hawke dare not steal a peek at them, if she did, she could be impelled to strike this bitch, scream until her lungs deflated, or worse, burst into tears. She wanted to do all of that now, though, if she did, she was certain that it would not be in that order. But it would cause too many problems; not only for her, but for the rest of the de Launcet family and Kirkwall. Standing motionless and absolutely flabbergasted seemed like the safest option.

"It is no wondered you aren't married. No man would find such a brutish woman attractive. I pity you."

Fenris burst into the front of her mind, and Hawke had to plant her feet firmly on the ground to keep from dashing. In her shock, she had forgotten his presence entirely. The one person who she had sought after for so long finally accepted her affections, and now, she was involuntarily driven into this unwarranted reprimand by a girl she could tell was a fair amount of years younger than she, and he wasn't even a yard away. He could hear every venomous word. What was he thinking? Did he agree with this wench? Did he see the slob that the lady saw?

And the next thing she said made Hawke's hard stop.

Under her breath, the de Launcet chided, "Your poor mother must be ashamed."

"You little—!" Isabela snarled from behind her.

If Isabela had heard the girl's ruthless remark, it must not have been as hushed as Hawke originally thought.

But before Isabela could finish her sentence, the servant Gerard reappeared at the top of the stairs, clearing his throat to dismiss the conversation.

"I am sorry, Champion, for the delay. It seems the Comtesse also has business with one of her daughters in an hour, and she cannot see you. She has instructed me to inform you that you should revisit here tomorrow night, and asked that I remind you to be prompt for this appointment, if you would."

The de Launcet daughter snickered. More fodder for her invectives.

"Shall I show our guests out, my lady?"

The girl thrust her chin up at Hawke, regarding Gerard without even looking him in the eye.

"The sooner the better, Gerard, and, please, when she is gone, go find some fresh flowers. This house has a terrible stench."

"As you wish, my lady,"

The de Launcet daughter turned on her heel and disappeared into her domicile, and Hawke bolted when the chance made itself known. She refused Gerard and showed herself to the door. As quickly as her feet could carry her, she flew from the mansion and bounded the stairs in one leap, brushing past her mates, including Fenris, to get back out to the busy Kirkwall street. She could hear Isabela and Anders calling for her to stop fleeing from them, but she only quickened her pace, determined to get home and into a washtub.

And she couldn't bring herself to look at Fenris, not after the humiliation she had just suffered through at the hands of a woman whose name she did not even know. The thought of him looking at her now made Hawke want to crawl into a hole in the ground and under no circumstances resurface, save for food and drink.

As soon as Hawke came to her door, she threw it open with all her strength and practically ran to her bedroom. Bodahn, bright eyed, opened his mouth to say something, but she paid him no heed, hoping that her hair was lengthy enough to hide the furious red on her face. She could intuit that the disturbed was dwarf trying to follow, but she didn't want a soul near her; to see her so disgusting and embarrassed. Powered by such negative emotions, she flung her bedroom door in his face, though her intention was not to, content when it closed with a loud boom. Regret swelled her chest, and she almost reopened it, but there was a commotion on the other side, and she knew that it meant Isabela, Anders and Fenris had caught up with her.

She couldn't even bear to be in the same building as them right now.

Wasting no time, Hawke stripped to her smallclothes, throwing her armor in a pile on the floor by her wardrobe. Her hands were poised to eliminate the rest when she heard voices, somewhat muffled, from behind the door. She listened.

"What a bitch!" Isabela.

"What happened?" Bodahn, and he sounded nervous.

"This Orlesian shrew ripped Hawke to pieces! Said she was dirty, and not the good kind of dirty, either." Isabela explained. Hawke could hear her rage.

"Poor Hawke," Anders, who sounded truly saddened. "She looked horrified. And I don't blame her. I've seen mages treated better than that. Only a few, but I've seen it."

"She had no right to talk like that," Isabela hissed. "She doesn't know half the shit Hawke went through for her. Hawke is the reason why she sleeps safely at night."

"The poor madam," Bodahn wimpered. "It is probably best we leave her be. She seemed angry, not embarrassed, messares. I'm sure she'll come around."

If Fenris was there, he made no sound to prove it, and Hawke was through eavesdropping on their pity. She walked over to her left wall, and opened the door to her washroom. There, using a pump, she filled a wooden washtub of pure, cold water. Gripping a bucket from the corner of the room, she dumped each of the soaps that she owned into the tub and stirred the water around so as to mix the bath concoction. The water was so frigid that it had her shivering, but Hawke didn't care. In fact, she trusted that her sizzling indignity and fury would heat it up better than flint and tinder.

Without a second thought, Hawke discarded the last of her clothes and climbed into the icy water. As steadily as she could, Hawke used a clothed and brusquely washed her whole body with it, leaving red marks all over her pale skin. Once she was satisfied with the cleanliness of her body, worked on her hair, scrubbing it in the water with her hands until she thought her scalp had started to bleed. She spent the next phase of her bath sluicing the inconspicuous parts of her body, like the areas behind her ears and between her toes.

The rest of her time was spent just sitting in the freezing, bubbly water, hoping that just by contact alone, it would scour beneath her skin. As minutes ticked by, the water did not gain any balminess, but lost it, and Hawke began to tremble violently from the absence of heat. That should have been her cue to dry off, but Hawke lacked the spirit to move. She could only think about the events that had played out; that had destroyed her buoyant morning.

Her quivering finger toyed with the mound of soap on the water's surface. Hawke had changed in her life, yes, but it was usually preceded by a major event, unfortunate or the opposite; unfortunate just happened to be the majority. Her behaviors were no pretenses. In Lothering, she had continuously been the type of girl who played with boys in the mud and rain. Hawke had never been afraid of muck and earth like Bethany. Bethany was delicate, apart from her ability to cast magic. Hawke believed it had something to do with her fearlessness, and not once did it ever cross her mind that she would be seen as unfeminine because if it.

Femininity was something that Hawke assumed came naturally to women, but, if that Orlesian girl had any merit to her words, Hawke had been deceived. Was girlishness something to unearth, or was it something to be taught? Wasn't that something she should know, considering her sex? There was no doubt she was a woman, but did she recognize what it meant—could she get her hand around—the concept of womanhood?

Part of being a woman was being attracted to men, and, Fenris as her witness, she knew that she had that. But, no, that didn't sit right with her. A woman could be womanly if they didn't prefer men, she had seen that countless times. Loving and wanting Fenris just meant she found men appealing. Sexual orientation shouldn't have been a piece to the puzzle. But it had pieces. She just couldn't tell where or what they were.

When Hawke saw the skin on her fingertips had been successfully pruned, she gradually lugged herself from the washtub, droplets that hung on her form slithering down to reach the stone under her feat. Carefully, to avoid tripping over the slickness, Hawke tiptoed to pick up a sheet of linen in the corner adjacent to the water pump and wrapped it around her body like a cloak. Leaving the room, Hawke took her hand mirror and a new hairbrush that Merrill had given her, sat in front of her bed, propped the mirror against the end of a bedpost so that she could see her face, and roughly tore through the blond tendrils, wincing when it snagged on a tangle.

She kept on combing the whole lot of painful knots, remembering her mother saying that one hundred strokes a day was the best way to take care of longer hair. Mother. How she missed her. How awful it was that she couldn't identify whether that bitter girl was right or wrong about the way Leandra would view her eldest child now. Many had offered their own thoughts, claiming that she would be the apple of her eye, but there was no way anyone could be sure. Hawke had to go with her gut, and her gut told her that, while her mother would not sojourn her love, she might have mentioned her gnarled hair or her putrid clothing when she walked out the door that day.

And would she rightly be abashed because of that? It was one thing to disenchant Bethany and Carver, but Mother…?

The door opening behind her stole Hawke's interest.

"Am I going to have to teach you how to knock again, Isabela?"

"That is something I've been taught, Hawke," Fenris said resolutely.

Today was just not her day.

Drawing the sheet closer, Hawke asked evenly, "What do you need, Fenris?"

Fenris' eyes avidly roamed over her.

"You look ravishing."

Hawke grimaced and blushed in unison. She turned from her lover to her looking glass, praying he could not see the chill bumps on her skin or the hitching of her breath and resumed to her task.

The soft padding of his feat filled her ears, and she could detect his whereabouts; he was sitting behind her. In one swift movement, he snatched the brush from her hand and placed somewhere out of her reach. His strong arms hauled her onto his lap, sheet and all, and he held her with a kind of tenderness only he seemed to possess.

Fenris offered a genial whisper. "Are you feeling better? You are shaking."

Hawke caught the sight of a hand unsheathed by the white cloth. Sure enough, she couldn't keep it stationary. But it could have been from either the cold or the yearnings clamping potent hands on her vitals.

"Of course." She slightly barked.

"It doesn't sound so, Hawke. Why did you leave like that?"

"You were there, weren't you?" Hawke snapped a tad. "If I stayed there any longer, I was going to eat her in one bite!"

_'…Or die of shame…' _

Fenris chortled in a low, seductive way.

"I, myself, still hunger. You promised to feed me grapes, no? But I'd much rather you feed them to me like this. It is an acceptable alternative to the Wounded Coast."

"What, with me in your lap?"

"No," he whispered, and she could all but see the smirk playing on his mouth.

He trailed ardent kisses from the rear of her damp ear to her shoulder, pulling back the linen when he ran out of uncovered skin. When he retraced his steps, this time she could feel the invigorating scrape of his teeth on her flesh, every hair on her body standing upright. Desire made her body throb, her vision blur and her thoughts opaque.

"You're warm," Hawke cooed.

"And you are not?" His voice was gruff. Vague. Sexy.

"I bathed in cold water. I can't feel my toes. In fact, I can't feel anything past my knees."

"What possessed you to do that?"

Hawke found the words just flowing. "I thought that girl was right. I thought I was sickening. I was so upset…that I didn't even consider heating the water..."

Fenris was abruptly halted. It reminded Hawke of someone who had slammed into a wall without even seeing it was there.

"What she said truly affected you?"

"You say that as though you're surprised." Hawke twisted her body around to face him.

Fenris' face pinched. "I am."

"I do have feelings, Fenris. I'm not made of stone or rock."

"That I understand. What I do not understand is that you allowed yourself to be influenced by someone whose words mean nothing."

"Fenris," Hawke said puckishly. "You know better than anyone that, while I may look tough on the outside, inside there is a scared, crying little girl trying to get out."

The elf grumbled at that "Sarcasm is not foreign to me, Hawke. You are much more capable then you give yourself credit for."

"Well that bitch did wound my pride, calling me such filthy…" Hawke trailed off, yanking her face away from his. She couldn't lock eyes with him while recalling today's previous events. The ugly mass of suspicion and apprehension would distend in her throat and choke her like a cat that could not expel a fur ball.

Fenris took her by the chin and reversed his love's attention to him. The pale jade in his eyes had darkened to a rich emerald, a color that was reminiscent of the grass that Lothering had when spring would just start to overtake winter. His eyes held springtime, which meant they held blooming flowers and sweet dew; a slim wisp of daybreak fog to give them mystery.

She couldn't resist the hypnotic season in his eyes.

"Why would you believe such slander, _carissimi_?" Fenris expression softened a fraction. "What could make such false words seem true?"

Hawke hesitated. Honesty would garner one of two possible reactions. Fenris would laugh at her irrationality and discard her petty fears, or he would scoff and convey disappointment in her lack of assurance in her own womanliness. Or she could be wrong, and Fenris would not care a fig for what she felt. Or he could react in a way she hadn't seen at all. He could dumbfound her. Nonetheless, it wasn't something Hawke could avoid answering. She would have to, or he would use his own wily ways to weasel what he wanted out of her. And they were a pair now. If she couldn't have him as her confidant, who would she?

Hawke inhaled.

"…Am I a woman, Fenris?"

Fenris didn't move an inch. Didn't even blink.

A pregnant silence went by. Hawke tried once more.

"Do you think I'm a woman?"

"…Is there a reason why I should not?"

Hawke then realized the impression her questions might have given, so she hastily recanted.

"Do I act womanly?"

"What would your definition of 'womanly' be, Hawke?"

"Being…like an average woman." She authorized the sheet covering her to slip a bit from her shoulders.

"You are certainly lovely," he murmured, one gauntleted finger tracing her shoulder with a feather-light touch.

"Yes, I look like a woman. I have everything a woman's body should have."

One corner of Fenris' mouth twitched up. Hawke's heart spun.

She didn't need to tell him that. He knew. He knew very well.

"I suppose the meaning behind this is to ask you whether or not I act feminine. To me, feminine is…my mother. Bethany. Isabela."

At the sound of Isabela's name, Fenris glowered.

"Isabela is in your list of examples?"

"She's just another woman I know!"

Fenris disregarded her defensive statement. "It appears to me as though you see womanly as being delicate or wearing skin tight clothing. If that is what you mean, Hawke, then, no, you are not womanly."

Hawke's optimism flattened. "Wow. You don't hold back, Fenris."

"Hear me out, Hawke," Fenris held up his hands. "I want to ask you something."

Hawke nodded, hoping this was going in a direction where he would tell her that he loved her even if she was manlike.

"What makes you feel womanly? What makes you glad to be female?"

The steady cogs of Hawke's working mind dallied. That hadn't been something she'd mulled over yet. It was reasonable though. In order to know what it meant to be ladylike, she had to differentiate between what did and did not give her femininity and if she found it pleasing or not. Hawke racked her memory. She felt somewhat womanly at the noble parties she attended once she had earned the title Champion, but that could have been from the decorative, flowing gowns she wore. Girlishness expanded her when she imagined being a mother like her own, but women were given the job to birth a child, that wasn't necessarily a glad sensation. Feminine pride did come when the topic of marriage came up, but somehow it would end with an uneasy rocking in her gut.

And there was Fenris, who…

_'…Wait.' _

Hawke bit her tongue. How could she be so asinine?

"You," she breathed a faded laughter.

Fenris' brows peaked.

"The womanly feeling that I'm talking about is something you bring out in me. When you say such plucky words. When your eyes pin me with a smolder. When you laugh in that smug way when you beat Varric at cards. When we…"

Hawke's eyes shifted sideways, but backpedaled.

"When we make love. I've never felt more like a woman, more pleased to be a woman then when I'm in your arms. Loving you gives me a rush of euphoria. That feeling must be womanly. That's what I think."

Love poured out from him like twilight through her window. He placed a hard, sleek hand on the side of her head, squashing her wet hair to her skull.

"You honor me," his tone rumbled with amorousness, and he spoke the rest of the sentence in his native vernacular.

"I do think it's rather attractive when you speak in Tevinter, but it would be nice if you could subsequently say it in common."

"I said that you are a star in a dark night. A goddess deigned to walk amongst mortals, and that I am privileged to have earned the devotion of such a being."

Hawke melodramatically fanned herself, yet she could not hide the heat creeping up her neck.

"My goodness, Fenris! Coming on a bit strong there, aren't we?"

"You jest" –Fenris gently pushed her head to the side, displaying the red skin—"but your body does not lie."

The red weaved its way to her ears.

"You have answered your own question, then. In order to be feminine, you must feel as such. And you do. Has your mood changed?"

Hawke gulped. She should feel better, so why the prolonged vexation?

The other misgiving had not been discussed thus far, that's why.

"Do you…"

Fenris waited. "Do I…?"

Hawke skimmed her puckered lips to the side. "This is a very silly question."

"No matter what it is, Hawke, I will answer it."

"Really? Even if it was something as ridiculous as adding two and two?"

"Four." Fenris puffed out his chest proudly, winking.

"Fenris knows basic arithmetic? Check. Now, on to our final question."

"Tell me, and it is done." Fenris held Hawke by her arms.

"Do you think I should…" –Hawke shut her eyes tight—"that I should change? Be more polite, or tidier; wear nicer clothes? Maybe more placid, concerned with my appearances; my hair or my face, for example, or—"

Curtly, Fenris yanked his beloved foreword, almost ripping her out of the flimsy sheet that she wore to cover her nakedness and kissed her, his mouth fitting so flawlessly over her plump red ones. The kiss was deep, pure and superb, and Hawke felt the waves of passion coursing through her muscles with every new oscillation of their lips. The flavor of his mouth was cool and tangy, like lemon and mint; a scrumptious and irresistible combination. Losing herself to the taste, she threw her arms about him, the sheet slumping and exposing her top half. Fenris noticed immediately, and wrapped his arms around her middle, using the free space behind her to take off his protective gauntlets.

Once discarded, he splayed his hands along her bare back, sighing at the splendidness of his skin meeting hers. Hawke shivered upon contact, the lyrium on his palms and fingers vibrating and bringing pleasurable pluses through her entire body. Inch by inch one lyrium lined hand made its way up to her head, and he twined his fingers through the moist, silky strands of her curls. They took no other steps to further the encounter, but they made no endeavors to end it, he lost in her softness while she was lost in his warmth.

Once he parted them, he half muttered, half growled, "Just the way you are, that is what you should be. I yearn to kiss you, to have and hold you because of who you are. You should not change from the Hawke I met many years ago, for that is the Hawke I could not bear to live without."

Hawke's eyes became misty, from adoration and keenness. "Fenris."

"If you were to change, to be someone that you are not, it would break my heart as surely as your death. Though I might not always be forthright with you, you must have some notion that I adore you, do you not?"

Hawke exhaled. "If you didn't, I'd be bothered."

Fenris bobbed his head. "So believe me, then, _carissimi_. Be true to yourself, and I will adore you forever."

Hawke beamed shyly. Partly due to his candid declarations, and partly because she discovered she had fallen out of the sheet in their lusty crusade. But, above anything, she appreciated Fenris' admirable words. She put her faith in him more than most, so she took his statements seriously and openly. And if he was willing to admit that he had fallen for her and continued to love her because of her authentic personality, then changing would only hinder them both.

She couldn't resist a little teasing, though.

"So that must mean you'll always think I'm the most beautiful girl in the world, hmm?"

Fenris pecked her throat.

"You will always be beautiful, Hawke. Your beauty is not only in flesh, but in spirit."

"You like me on the outside _**and **_the inside?"

"To put it simply, yes. I am smitten with your inside and" –Fenris gave her a brief once over—"I'm _**indeed**_ smitten with your outside."

Hawke, in one swift movement, drew her coverlet up and shielded her chest, her heart thumping so hard in her chest that she swore Fenris could hear it.

"Now then," Fenris removed Hawke from his lap, putting her back to her original spot on the floor. "I will return momentarily."

"Are you going to go get Anders and Isabela?"

"No. They left long ago."

"Oh, no." Hawke frowned. "I'll have to apologize...wait, then where are you going?"

Fenris grinned wickedly.

"For the grapes! How many times must I tell you this?"

Hawke laughed with such gusto that her ribs began to ache.

And, for the first time, she felt she knew what true beauty really was.


	4. Silent

Hey yall! Hope you guys are having a kickass March. I am kinda. XD My job is getting kinda crazy since the warm months are coming, and I've been busy with that, plus I've been playing Tales of Graces, which came out earlier this month, so that game kinda sucked in my personal life. Haha. Just as a sidenote, for anyone interested in playing TOG, it's not a bad game, it's pretty fun actually, but I wouldn't say it's the Tales Series' best game. I liked it better than Abyss, but I didn't like it as much as Symphonia or Vesparia. Also, the plot remindes me a lot of FF7. Anywho; back on track!

So the word for this movement was "silent", and I gotta say, I had trouble trying to figure ofut what to write for this word (which is another reason, sans Graces and work, why this is out so late). Until I heard this magical song by the talented Ingrid Michaelson, and inspiration struck! The song has more to do with the foundation of the plot than the meaning of the word. This one shot is connected to the first one in this series that I did for the word "apart", but it is not connected to "romance" or "beauty", those are stand-alone's, for now. They don't have to be read in any particular order though. They can all be read separately, which is what I intend for this collection, unless I decide to do linking one-shots, which I'm not ruling out. :)

The path I took for this goes along with the theme that when friends decide to date but then break up, they have that moment of awkward silence between each other until tension builds too high and they just have to talk about it or the friendship is just screwed. Plus a bit of "keeping all your feelings inside will eventually make you explode." I went through similar situations in high school and I wanted to play around with them; to see what it would be like for Hawke and Fenris. Still haven't named this Hawke; don't know what to do about that. I'm taking song requests, plot requests and What-To-Name-Hawke requests, so drop a line if you wanna!

I'm parched for reviews! Please quench my thirsts! And enjoy, too! ;)

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><p>Fourth Movement: <em><strong>Silent<strong>_

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><p>"<em>If you are chilly? <em>

_Here; take my sweater. _

_Your head is aching? _

_I'll make it better." _

**- Ingrid Michaelson**, _**"****The Way I Am"**_

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><p>"Hawke!" The booming voice of the guard captain resonated throughout the rooms of her estate.<p>

Hawke inhaled, making sure the air reached into the deep crevices of her lungs. She was beginning to think that, while she had been the appointed leader of their band of eight free spirits, she was starting to assume that they were listening to her less and less. Could she not have been clearer that today was their day off? Unless Aveline didn't comprehend the meaning of the term, which Hawke found to be a completely believable explanation for Aveline's presence in her humble abode. That, and it meant Aveline had a reason for showing up in the first place. It was a secret code; a way Aveline asked for help without having to say it outright. For some reason, she found it demeaning to admit that she could not conquer the world with a wave of her hand.

Letting her lungs deflate at a snail's pace, Hawke closed her journal and set it down with a kind of gentleness reserved for small children or injured animals, then bounded out of her room into the main hall. Dressed to the nines in her shiny, spiky armor, Aveline's hands were folded across her chest, and she was pacing. Harsh lines cut her cheeks and forehead, and she could see that the left side of her face was distended somewhat; a sign that her tongue was pushing against the wall of her mouth. This took Hawke aback. It wasn't often that someone as sturdy as Aveline was pushed to such an edgy point. But Hawke knew the visage the captain wore when on official business, and this was not it. Whatever was bothering her had nothing to do with the guard, the Qunari or ne'er-do-well mages.

It was something else entirely.

And that thought had Hawke's mind reeling.

Hawke hurried down the stairs to stop Aveline's senseless movement.

"You seem a bit flustered, my captain," Hawke tried to inveigle a smile from her. "Shall I eliminate a problem for you?"

"There's an emergency," Aveline gripped Hawke by her bicep and pulled, dragging her towards the exit. "You need to come quickly."

"There's always an emergency, Aveline," Hawke said slowly, attempting to calm her wild heart. "Is this one really that serious?"

Aveline gave Hawke a sideways glance, but did not release her.

The captain chose her words carefully when she did speak, as though planning out a strategy for a successful search and rescue mission.

"Sebastian and Anders are already there, so he's in good hands, but he's not responding. He won't eat or drink, and when he does, he just tosses it back up again. He's shaking from fever. We don't know what's wrong."

Hawke stilled her feat to halt them both. Aveline did not, and she jerked her forward with a force reserved for combat, and Hawke barely caught herself in time; she almost got thrown right into her front door. Dusting her pants and sleeves, Hawke spun in Aveline's direction, giving her a solemn and frustrated glower. Aveline returned it with a will that could anything from stone to steel.

"Aveline, what in the name of the Maker are you going on about?"

She didn't answer Hawke's question at first. She huffed through her nose and shuffled a foot across the floor of the mudroom. Her eyes would lock with Hawke's for half a second, and then scuttle to a space somewhere around her, remaining for a time. Her uneasiness did not help to assuage Hawke's fear, and the fact that she wasn't being direct about the true nature of the situation was not the best of signs for her. Whoever she was talking about was in serious trouble.

"Aveline, out with it!" Hawke's exclamation was exceedingly loud

Aveline squared he shoulders and stoned her countenance before replying.

"Fenris is ill Hawke. Very ill. It's bad."

Hawke felt the whole world crumble around her feet. Fenris…sick? That wasn't feasible. Fenris was invincible; indestructible. He fought like a feral beast and endured wound after wound and had not once vacillated. But disease? A threat that could not be fought with a sword? Her certainty was greatly impaired. She had no knowledge of his biological vitality; any elf in general for that matter. Any common sniffle could be a terminal malady to them for all she knew. Fenris was suffering. He could be dying.

And she couldn't let him. Not after all that she had went through.

Her parents. Carver. Bethany…

Hawke would not let another loved one slip away.

"Tell me what to do." Hawke's voice broke mid-plea.

"Keep control, for starters." Aveline tenderly patted her shoulders. "I know you and Fenris have—"

"Had," she corrected.

"—an intimate relationship, and you, above all others, need to support him; to make sure that he knows everything will be all right."

"Aveline," Hawke murmured, tone quaking. "Is it really…that bad?"

Aveline bit her bottom lip. "I saw him this morning when I went to talk to him about my patrols around his home. He was lolling in bed, white as a sheet, drenched in sweat and shivering. He was conscious, but he wouldn't respond to anything I said. I found Sebastian on my way here, and we went to fetch Anders together. I stopped here when we got back to tell you. Isabela, Varric and Merrill don't know."

"Are you sure it wasn't something he ate? He spends a lot of time at The Hanged Man and I have no idea what kind of food he—"

"If it was food, he'd be vomiting, and he's not. It's a high fever."

Hawke ran her tongue over her teeth, enjoying the grating on the soft flesh. Aveline was right. Food poisoning, though it did cause fever, would not take the lead from nausea. And, going by the guard captain's account, all of Fenris' symptoms indicated that he had a climbing fever that was cooking him from the inside out. The thought of Anders by his side was enough to subdue a fragment of her apprehension; the bulk of it was not mitigated, though. Fenris was sick, and he was not getting better. And if he didn't even react when spoken to, there was a chance that he had been overwhelmed by the torture of the heat that was plaguing him.

He needed help. He needed her. And she loved him far too much to cast aside his torment, even if he did walk out on her after their lascivious night in her bed. If there was anything she could do to ease his agony, she would with no questions asked.

Hawke nodded doggedly to her friend.

"Let's not delay any longer. Hopefully Anders and Sebastian have already done something for him."

"I know you love him, Hawke, and I promise that I'll do everything I can for him and you."

Hawke felt a blush creep to her neck. "That's a little forward, don't you think, captain?"

Aveline lowered her brows. "Don't play dumb, Hawke. I've seen the both of you. One of you is always watching while the other is looking away. And don't you look at me like I'm full of it, because I'm not the only one who notices. Go ask Varric or Isabela. They'll tell you the exact same thing."

"Just because I stare doesn't mean—"

"It's not the staring. It's the way your face fell when I told you he was sick. It was as though your life had ended in that moment. I know it better than anyone Hawke, don't you think?"

Hawke wanted to argue, wanted to tell her she was seeing things that weren't really there, but she couldn't. After all this time, the two women could remember when they had first arrived in Kirkwall; remembered the grave loss Aveline suffered while fleeing the Blight and Ostagar. She had seen the devotion in her companion's eyes when life had oozed out from her husband Wesley. She looked at his old shield that hung on her office wall just like that, but less now that she had begun seeing Donnic, her guardsman. Now it was used more on him than the armor. Keeping her raw emotions from someone who knew them better than Hawke herself was pointless and rather spiteful.

Hawke kept her eyes to the stone floor as they walked through the posh section of Kirkwall, busying her thoughts by counting how many weeds had sprouted out through the cracks from the earth that they roofed. Her love for Fenris was un-eclipsed by any other amorous sensation that had welled up within her in this lifetime, and seeing him every day only made that yearning dilate. However, it was during critical moments like these where she had to summon a much more powerful restraint. When he was grieving, angry or bedridden, all she ever wanted was to gather him up in her arms and sooth his malaises with kisses and soft contact. To be a caregiver, a healer and a lover.

And this was her first opportunity to show Fenris how profound her affections were. To show him that the love she had wasn't like the rolling tides; it did not flux with time. It was something eternal and ethereal in a world where nothing like it existed. Moreover, she wanted him to understand that she would come to his side at any moment, no matter what his condition may be.

When Hawke and Aveline crossed the threshold into Fenris home, the vigorous stench of sweat and decay invaded her nostrils. Fenris' commandeered mansion being in a constant state of disarray did not strike them as odd, but the reek of perspiration coming on so strongly was a different matter. There were no lit torches or fires in the mansion; had it not been for the sun pouring light in through the windows, Hawke wouldn't have been able to guide herself through the spacious home. Over the clanking of their footsteps as they made their way towards the master bedroom, Hawke and Aveline could make out a series of grunts and exasperated shouts; the closer they got, the easier it was for them to hear.

"Fine, then!" Anders snapped as they entered, throwing staff to the floor. "You might as well put yourself on a rotisserie! How stupid can you be?"

Hawke caught the sight of Fenris, and she was finally able to comprehend the severity of Aveline's claims. Fenris looked awful. His top half had been stripped of armor, which made her blush, and he had a blanket covering everything below his waist. There was a sheen coming off his body, and Hawke knew that it had to be either water or sweat, and, if the smell in the air was any indicator, it was the latter. The elf's skin, normally tan, was now wan with a weak yellow tint, causing extraordinary lyrium lines, once bright and glowing, practically disappear. The only part of him that seemed to have any color at all was his cheeks, which were tomato red from the fever that had drained the rest of him. One arm, gangly, yet toned, had flopped off the side of his bed and dangled limp, making Fenris appear feeble. Inexpressive and breathing light, she felt as if a breeze were to blow in through an open window, it would turn him to dust and gather him up in it. She had never seen him so exposed; so helpless.

Hawke then pushed her attention back to Anders.

"What's wrong, Anders?"

Anders stuck out his bottom lip irately at Hawke.

"He won't let me touch him. Every time I try to place my hands on him, he starts to struggle. It's only making that fever worse."

"He's stopped trembling though," Aveline said, gaging Fenris.

"You can thank Sebastian for that," Anders motioned to the door they walked in through. "Sebastian helped him out of his armor, which was half the problem, at least I thought so. But I can still feel the heat coming off of him. He's in nothing but a blanket, and he's still sweating. He needs magic, but he'd rather roast than be healed by me."

"He's stubborn to the point of idiocy, I suppose," Hawke groaned, casting her gaze back to her former lover. "Where's Sebastian now?"

"I sent him after water. If I can't heal him with magic, we'll have to do this the old fashioned way."

"Are you going to dump ice on him?" Aveline let a smile toy with her lips. "That would be an interesting sight to see."

If Fenris took offense, he showed no signs of it.

"Maker, no," Anders shook his head. "If his body comes into contact with cold, it'll shock his system."

"What do you mean, 'shock his system'?" Hawke asked, shifting her weight between her feet.

"Ever put a hot coal into snow?"

"No."

Anders stroked his stubble. "Ever stuck a hot pan into cold water?"

"…No…" Hawke chewed her fleshy cheek.

"I have," Aveline piped up. "It starts to steam."

"I like picturing it that way. Something hot meeting something cold always causes a reaction. If I were to cover him in ice, his body would react to the extreme drop in temperature. He won't steam like dishware, though. His body will want to heat up, and that'll feed the fever, which we don't want to do."

"So why the water then?" Hawke's head tilted.

"Lukewarm water is actually the best when dealing with a fever. It's not hot or cold, and because he's already heated enough, it'll feel cooler to him without the negative side effects."

Hawke smiled affectionately at her friend. "You are the best healer I've ever met, Anders. Honestly."

Anders offered her a wink. "Well, I won't say 'no' to a compliment. I appreciate your kindness, Hawke. I hope I can repay the gesture someday."

"No," Hawke said vehemently. "After everything you did for Bethany…"

Anders sobered. "You've no need to feel indebted to me for that, Hawke. I did what I knew needed to be done to save her. Besides, it was her choice in the end to go with the Wardens. She could have refused Stroud. All I did was open the door."

"But if you weren't there…" Hawke's eyes caught the floor, then his own. "If you hadn't been there, she could be dead, like father, my mother and Carver. You…kept me from losing everything."

Anders' face became inflamed. "You…you must know that I did it— the reason why—"

Before Anders could finish, a gravelly snarl broke apart the tender exchange.

"…You…bastard…"

Fenris had sat up in bed, sweat cascading down his chest, staring daggers at the former Grey Warden. A minute radiance was leaking out from his markings, and the rise and fall in his chest as he took in air became palpable, as though it was a struggle for him. He ran his tongue over his hard dry lips, and raked a hand through the disorganized white clump he called hair. Hawke felt tingles rush down her spine at the titillating scene. Even in such a cloying state, Fenris still had the swagger of a sexy tiger prepared to pounce on his designated prey. With such a smolder in his eyes, Hawke would be lying if she said she didn't want to be his target of preference.

Keeping herself in check, Hawke marched over to his side and tried to press him back down into his bed.

"Your feverish, Fenris," Hawke said softly, like a caring mother. "You need rest. You need healing magic."

"I…need no…such thing…" Fenris panted.

"Yes you do," Hawke persisted.

"Is…is this a dream? Are…you here, Hawke?"

Hawke backed up slightly. "Why…would this be a dream…Fenris?"

Anders chimed in. "He might be delusional. High enough fevers can make someone feel as though reality has been distorted."

Aveline spoke up also. "That happened to my father once…when he was ill."

"Fenris," Hawke said tenderly. "You aren't dreaming. You're awake. You're sick."

Fenris' milky eyes scanned the room, stopping for a few seconds when he reached Anders, and he nodded upon completion.

"…Yes. I…must be awake. If this were a dream…you would be naked…and he would be dead."

Hawke's eyes bugged from his bluntness. Aveline laughed, but Anders pouted.

Did he really want to see her nude? Did that mean he…?

No. This was not the time for that. Fenris was unwell, and he needed her. All her petty emotions could wait.

Cautiously, Hawke placed the back of her slim hand to the right side of his face. He was hot indeed; it reminded her of a time when Bethany had begun to learn fire magic, and she thought it was a good idea to pat her elder sister's nose just after the ball of flame had fizzled out. Fenris was not as hot as that, but it was close. To him, her skin must have felt cool in comparison, and he leaned into it with an expression of intemperate ecstasy; Hawke felt relieved, yet frightened.

"Fenris, you're burning up," Hawke sighed.

"And you are as cold as…a Seheron winter wind," Fenris trembled for a second.

"If your hands are too cold, you shouldn't touch him, Hawke," Anders said evenly. "You'll make his body produce heat."

Hawke yanked her hand back, and Fenris whined.

She had never heard him whine like that before.

"How can I tell if my hands are cold?" Hawke turned to Anders.

"Check her hands, Anders," Aveline threw her head in Hawke's direction. "You don't have a fever. If they're cold to you, then Hawke shouldn't touch Fenris."

"That might work," Anders' gaze went to the ceiling, and he bobbed his head.

Hawke held out the hand that had chilled her elven friend and the hand that she had kept by her side for Anders to hold. Leisurely, he seized them by the fingers, and it gave her a delicate impression that he was considering placing a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. But he never did; he just moved his jaw up and down in a chomping motion, his amber eyes flitting around in a crazed dance.

Abruptly, he let them go.

"They aren't cold to me. They're room temperature. They're just cold to him. In fact, it might be a good idea for you to put your hands on him until Sebastian comes back with that water."

"Your hands were the same temperature as mine," Hawke added. "Maybe we both should touch him, to break his fever."

"If that mage comes anywhere near me, he is losing his fingers." Fenris' eyebrow twitched.

"You know, stubbornness will get you nowhere in life, Fenris," Hawke chided.

"I am…not being stubborn," Fenris insisted, lying back down. "I did not object to you."

"That's not what I mean," Hawke grumbled, but his comment did bolster her self-esteem. "What I mean is that Anders could get rid of your fever much faster with magic. You can't hate being healed with magic. I've seen Bethany heal you before."

Fenris put an arm over his forehead, stretching the muscles along his torso.

"That is because Bethany was not an abomination."

"Well, at least it's not because I have bad breath or something," Anders roughly rubbed his neck. "Where in the Maker's name is Sebastian anyway? It can't take this long to get water, can it?"

"I'll go look for him," Aveline's volunteering sounded eager. "I'm useless here, anyway."

"As am I, it seems," Anders concurred with Aveline, then switched to Hawke. "You should stay here with him, since you're the only one he'll let within arm's length. Aveline and I will find Sebastian. With our luck, he's probably lost."

"Or he has no idea where to get water from," Aveline said while walking out the door, leaving Anders behind.

"Find me if you need anything," Anders said sympathetically, then rushed behind the guard captain.

Hawke waved goodbye curtly, then switched to Fenris, who was smiling up at her as though she were Andraste herself, come to save him from his infection and fill his world with sweets and sunshine

"Thank you, Hawke," Fenris closed his eyes. "I feel much better knowing you are at my side."

Hawke rejoined with loving sentiment. "Of course. I'll always be here when you need me."

Fenris opened his eyes; they were full effervescent-green adoration. "Do you know why…I thought you were a dream?"

Hawke shook her head, keen on hearing his explanation.

"Because…I have dreamt of you every night…for a long time."

Hawke felt a powerful density on her chest lift, and she inhaled. She had gone so long without him; his passionate love-making, the feel of his silken hair through her fingers, the suave urgency of his kiss. Each piece was a drug, and she was addicted to it like a lyrium-starved templar. And here he was before her now, delicious and ripe for the picking like a Fereldan apple from the bough. Hawke could tell him her innermost desires now; how she longed for him every morning when she woke and every evening when she laid her head down to sleep. Or, she didn't have to breathe a word of it. Capturing his lips with hers would have been a suitable substitute, and just as effective. And then he would be hers again, and she could be happy.

But…it was a dangerous gamble.

Fenris had said when he cut her off from him that they had moved too fast for his tastes, and if she let herself be windswept by undying love while Fenris this state, not to mention it had not been very long since that chat, the declaration could be steered in the same direction, which warranted an outcome where they both would be melancholy. Hawke would not walk on that thin line at such an unpropitious circumstance. She had decided earlier today that curing Fenris of this uncustomary fever was the most important of her tasks, and that was what it would remain. There was plenty of time for that beast to be confronted.

"I must be playing hide-and-seek with you in the Fade," Hawke laughed. "And it looks like I'm losing horribly."

"No," Fenris said lightly. "I believe you are the one finding me."

"Then I must be the best hide-and-seeker in all of Thedas. I should put a challenge up on the Chanter's Board. See how many actually try and do it."

"I would accept," Fenris sighed with mock disappointment. "But it seems I've lost too many times to even bother."

Hawke grinned at him, and they shared a pregnant silence.

A few minutes passed, then Hawke banished the quiet.

"Fenris?"

Fenris sat up in bed, two beads of sweat running down his solar plexus.

"Yes, my _somnium virgo_?"

Hawke wavered at the terminology unknown to her.

"Is that Tevinter? What does that mean?"

"The language spoken in Tevinter is called Arcanum," Fenris smirked slyly, wiping at a damp spot on his pectorals. "What the word means…is my secret to keep."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "As long as you aren't making me the butt of your joke, I suppose I can let this one go."

"I promise you, Hawke, I would never insult you in Arcanum. Any teasing will be done in a language you can recognize. I won't be able to get a reaction out of you if I'm speaking in tongues."

"You must be feeling better," Hawke snorted. "Our witty banter is back to normal."

"I felt better as soon as I knew you were here," Fenris said, his tone distant.

"Is it because I'm magic?"

"You are no mage."

"I have mage blood in me. On both sides!"

"Yet I do not see you casting any healing spells on me."

"My magic works in different ways."

Fenris pursed his lips as though he were trying to keep something inside his mouth from falling out.

Hawke tensed. "What is it?"

Fenris considered the question, and spoke slowly. "I could cleverly retort to your assertion, but I'm too afraid of insulting you."

"He who claims that teasing me will be done in a manner in which I can comprehend? You've gone far enough to call me an ignorant human, you might as well spit it out."

Fenris overlapped his arms on his bare chest, and Hawke admired the flexing of biceps as he did so.

"Promise me you will not be cross."

"Now you sound like my mother."

"I am serious, Hawke. If you wish such frankness of me, I deserve to have your word that you will not penalize me for it."

"And if I say no?" Hawke inclined her head toward him.

Fenris copied her, and there was only a hair's breadth between them.

"Then I will not tell you, _amasiuncula_."

"Why don't you tell me what that means, first, then I'll promise?"

"It means 'she who is sharp of tongue, but dull of mind'." Fenris was glib.

"I knew you were lying to me!"

Fenris simply waved her comment. "That is not what it means, Hawke. Can you not hear sarcasm?"

"I'm fluent in sarcasm. What I'm not fluent in is Arcanum, Dwarven, Elven…and pretty much every language that isn't common."

"Oh? Then perhaps I should only speak to you in sarcasm. If it's easier for you to understand, at any rate. We would not want to miscommunicate in combat, now would we?"

"Just tell me what the word means!" Hawke groaned playfully, burying her face in her hands.

But before she could uncover it, Fenris reacted.

"It means 'sweetheart'. I suppose another correct translation would be 'darling'."

Hawke drew up her head. "So when you said you would tell me what you were thinking…"

Fenris winked. "My complete sentence was, and still is, 'then I will not tell you, sweetheart.'"

Hawke's blush was raging. And she knew that he could see it, too, and it augmented the uncontrollable coloring.

"Cute. Okay, promise made, Fereldan's honor"—Hawke saluted—"so what were you going to say?"

Fenris' statement was the kind of riposte that made Hawke believe that there was a sadist hidden somewhere inside him.

"I was going to say that I, in point of fact, do believe you have magic. You have the clout to make even the most virtuous of men covet you. And I was a willing victim."

Hawke swallowed. "What do you mean by 'willing'?"

Fenris's hot thumb traced her bottom lip. "I was the one who carried you off to bed."

Though Fenris' skin was searing, the sensation of it on such a sensitive part of her sent a sinuous stream of sparks all throughout her system. In a desperate attempt to savor the moment, Hawke endeavored to close off the rest of her senses—gustatory, olfactory, and visual—in order to heighten the pleasure of physical contact. It was ideal; more so because it was Fenris and not some other man who had haphazardly grazed her. Not for the first time, Hawke longed to possess the abilities of her sister, that she might shape the love convulsing in her heart into a shaft of light and shoot it like an arrow straight towards his own, using the spot where their two bodies met as a conductor. In addition, Hawke couldn't help but speculate his own reasons for his intimate actions. If he had any, he was not vocalizing them.

As soon as the thought left her, Fenris pulled back, and Hawke assumed for a few blinks that he had read her mind.

"I'm…sorry," he said, the words sounding hollow to her.

"Why?" Hawke found herself asking.

"I shouldn't have—I didn't mean…It was inappropriate for me to do such a thing. Forgive me."

"I…" Hawke trailed off, but thrust past her doubt and continued. "Don't be sorry."

Fenris' hair swayed when he moved his head back and forth.

"I…do not want you to get the wrong idea…"

"What idea is that?" Hawke's tone hardened.

"Please hear me out, Hawke," Fenris beseeched. "Do not think it isn't because I do not care. That is untrue. I care for you a…great deal."

Hawke's glare tapered.

"…I just…" Fenris gave a frustrated huff, and put his bare back to his bedframe. "Hawke…you should be with someone without…someone who isn't…like me."

"'Like you'?"

"...Someone who doesn't have my kind of past."

"So what are you saying? That I should avoid every runaway slave I find like the plague?"

"Absolutely not," Fenris bit. "The only former slave in question is me. Do you truly not see what I'm trying to convey?"

"Oh, I see it crystal clear, Fenris," Hawke said snidely, rising from his bed and taking a handful of steps to the left. "You're trying to tell me that you have too many issues for me to handle. That I should find a man to love me who is so perfect and untroubled that butterflies perch on his shoulders and rainbows fly out his ass."

Fenris grimaced. "Save your sharp tongue for someone who can appreciate it, _amasiuncula_."

"Don't you _ama-ka-whatever_ me," Hawke tossed her hair. "You have no right to tell me what I should do!"

"When did advice become a command? I am not here to order you, Hawke. Has it not occurred to you that I said what I did to save you from heartbreak? From me?" Fenris stood up himself, tying his thin blanket around his waist in a makeshift skirt. It sagged on his form, and Hawke refused to let him see her gawk at his suggestive, improvised attire and lack-thereof. "I saw your face; do not try to deny what was obvious. I hurt you beyond measure, and I suffered because of it. We both suffered. But I cannot be your lover, and it is for reasons that stem far back into my life under Danarius' thumb. It is something that I cannot confront at this moment, and my languor would not help to contribute to a romantic relationship. I could not assist you or satisfy you."

"'Satisfy me'? Who do you think I am, Isabela?"

"I am not speaking of sex. If sex was all you wanted, I would happily oblige."

Hawke's lashes fluttered in shock. "That's not something you tell a woman whose feelings you already hurt, Fenris."

"I am a man, Hawke, but I am no fool. You want something more than physical liaison. You want compassion and companionship. You want to fall in love, _amasiuncula_. I can see it; I can feel it. But falling in love with me…it is a mistake. I am far too broken to ever be pieced completely together…and you—you should have someone who is whole. That is why I would give you my body and nothing more. How could I offer you a heart that is tattered beyond measure?"

"Here's something for you to think on, _ama-you-know-what-I-mean_," Hawke closed the gap between them, their chests bumping. "Have you ever considered that, just maybe, I don't give a nug's ass about how shattered your heart is or how crazy and convoluted your life used to be? That no matter how much pain you cause me, you can take it all away by just being near me? Maybe you should consider that I'm already in love with you, that I fell in love with you willingly, and _**you can't do a damn thing about it**_!"

The taut air in the room dispersed and reformed in one quick pop, and it was so stagnant that she could hear Fenris' bone creak as he twitched from her breakneck candor. His huge, verdant eyes probed her down far into her soul, rifling through it like the punctilious elf he was, with a rosy flame flickering behind them. Hawke knew the purpose for his examination instantly. Fenris wanted to find pretenses in her somewhere; proof that she had been exaggerating or purposefully deceptive in order to lead him into a false sense of security. He was trying to make sure that her testimony wasn't going to cause destruction to his mind or his heart. He was hunting for a reason not to fall in love with her.

And, if she judged by his lack of decorum, he had come up dry.

"I should make you leave...tell you that you can fall in love with someone else; that the night I had with you means nothing to me. That you mean nothing to me. I should reject your affections. I would be the better man for it, and you would move on in due time. The pain we would experience might last long, but it is something that can be overcome. We would be happy again. I could run right now and know it."

Fenris lips brushed hers when he said: "But I cannot. Even when I did run, my damaged heart clung to the memories of you."

"Why did you try in the first place?" Hawke breathed.

"Because I put you on a pedestal," Fenris said gruffly.

In one swift movement, he took her by the wrist and swung her around, her back hitting the wall with a ricocheting thud. Her frame bounced on contact, but he kept her in place by bracing one arm on the same wall, his hand inches from her left ear. He rid them of the space that kept the two apart by linking their foreheads and aligning their noses. From his lack of fluids and fever, Hawke had expected his breath to be foul, but it smelt of nothing, just normal air. But the rest of his body was coated in the rugged perfume of sweat, which brought her mind back to her life in Lothering, when her father and Carver would come home from helping the villagers after a long day under the summer sun. His free hand clutched the knot that he had tied to keep the blanket covering his nudity, and Hawke could only guess that his hand was there to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions. What made her stomach want to leap out of her throat was the fact that the situation was not frightening her, but seemed completely natural; like a half-naked Fenris pinning her to a wall was an everyday occurrence.

'…_Well…it had happened once before…' _

Fenris' next words careful and measured. "I…compared us, and found myself…unfit. I…convinced myself that I wasn't worthy of you, and, when you chose me, I was…afraid that you would have…regrets."

Hawke listened to the light rhythm of his breathing. "You thought I would leave you? After sleeping with you? After everything we went through?"

"I was wrong," Fenris eyes saddened. "I was wrong about your feelings, and I lied to myself about what I felt. You were right, Hawke. I should have been open with you. I should have asked you about our…relationship…before jumping to conclusions. And now, I…"

Fenris' hand slid down the wall, making it parallel with her chest. There was an amorous fog in his vision, and he would part and close his lips in a cycle, as though speaking through code that he had invented just for the two of them. The silence lasted what Hawke thought must have been a lifetime, until she couldn't take it anymore. Problem was, she had no idea what to fill the void with. She was at a loss for words, too.

Finally, like a ghost's cry in the wind, Fenris mouthed something.

"Forgive me."

Hawke beamed.

"You are such a man," she mock-groaned, placing her palms on his chest, which was moist, but not as wet as it seemed to be. "Always thinking the world is going to end. Women are much more resilient then you give us credit for. Especially me."

"I—"

"I wanted an apology, Fenris," Hawke cooed. "I'm not going to say that I didn't want you to come back to me, because I did, but if you didn't, I would have fought through it. What I really wanted from you was just to know why. Why you gave my heart back the day after I gave it to you of my own accord. I just wanted this silence between us to end. It was killing me, more so than you walking away. And now I know, with the added bonus that you reciprocate my feelings."

Fenris' Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "And…?"

"And…I'm happy?" Hawke laughed, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him in a hug.

Fenris' gave her a lightning-strike bright smile.

"That is a relief, my _somnium virgo_."

"So," Hawke's eyes darted to the left, then backward. "I guess this must be the part where you kiss me…right?"

Chuckling low, Fenris whispered something that sounded very suggestive and blunt in her ear, but she didn't understand a word of it due to the sentence being in his native Arcanum.

"That sounded dirty," one of Hawke's eyes squinting.

Fenris nibbled on her earlobe. "It was."

"Okay, so I'm implementing a new rule," Hawke tapped his heart. "You have to tell me what you say in Tevinter when you speak it. Not knowing every flirtatious thing you say to me is going to get absolutely torturous."

Fenris moved from her ear to her neck, his lips hot against the tender space. Torturous indeed.

"You take the fun out of it," He mumbled absently. "Is it not more stimulating when you have to wonder what I've said just by the tone that I use?"

"Yes, but you could be saying anything from 'Let us make passionate love until the sun comes up.' or 'Hello, have you seen my cat?', and I would be none the wiser."

Fenris bit down gently near her collar bone. "How fortunate for you that I am not fond of cats."

"Don't let Anders hear you say that."

"Let him hear. I fear him not.

Hawke shuffled her feet. His constant kissing was starting to make her ache for him.

"Is—um—is that why you called him—is that—"

Fenris pulled his head up from her shoulder to lock their eyes. His face was a tranquil sea, but his eyes held a maelstrom of mischievousness.

"Am I distracting you?"

Hawke flushed and rolled her eyes, hoping he wouldn't notice her knocking knees.

"You are asking why I called him a bastard, correct?"

Hawke nodded, her body becoming somber.

"Because he was flattering you, and I am not without jealousy."

"That's…cute…in a juvenile kind of way."

It was Fenris' turn to blush this time.

"Rule Number Two," Hawke flashed two fingers. "You have to be nice to Anders."

Hawke didn't think Fenris could look sicker than he had been earlier this morning, but it was possible.

"Are we allowed to discuss loopholes to these rules?"

"Depends on the loophole. What did you have in mind?"

"That I'm given some leeway on the second rule. Can it be changed to something a little less strict? I am only nice to him in the mornings, perhaps?"

Hawke mouth tilted up, but the opening and closing of Fenris' front door kept her from repudiating him. The two jolted from their precarious position, Fenris nestling himself in his large, wine red bed, while Hawke stood casually leaning on the bedpost near his feet. Clanging footsteps rang like a Chantry bell; Aveline had returned, in the very least. Their eyes met, and Hawke and Fenris shared one final private wink before Aveline entered the room, Anders and Sebastian, lips pursed and neck rubicund, who was lugging a heavy looking wooden bucket that could only be the water he had promised to retrieve.

"You found him!" Hawke threw her arms out.

"About damn time, too," Aveline pinched her nose. "I swear, we ran around all over Kirkwall looking for this man, only to find him at the most obvious of locations."

"He was getting the water blessed by Elthina in the Chantry," Anders' face pinched; he was trying not to laugh.

"A blessing from the Maker through Grand Cleric Elthina is a way to ensure Fenris' illness is cured with divine hands," Sebastian grumbled.

Fenris regarded the exiled prince. "I welcome your kindness, friend."

Each of Hawke's companions inspected Fenris, but Anders did a double take.

"You aren't pale anymore."

At his statement, Hawke made her own assessment. Anders was right. The pallor that drained his skin had dissipated, restoring the suntanned brownness that was run-of-the-mill for him. Some liquid loitered on his body, but it was obvious to anyone who got a close enough to him that it was dehydrating at a fast pace. There was no longer a haze in his eyes. Combing through her memory, Hawke recalled that he had not once shuddered during their flirtatious and obtuse dialogue. Fenris had not complained or fainted, but acted as though he had woke up that morning feeling just the way he always did, not a hair away from becoming elven barbecue.

Fenris sat up. "In truth, I am feeling much better."

"Check his forehead and neck; see if they're hot," Anders said to Hawke. "Do your best to describe to me the temperature; is it warm, lukewarm, or if it's burning."

Hawke poised herself, but Fenris held up a hand to stop her.

"He can check himself, if it's easier for him to tell."

Anders, Hawke, Aveline and even Sebastian gaped.

"What did you do to him?" Anders asked Hawke skeptically at the same time Aveline said "Are you sure he's not still ill?"

"You might find that I can be very persuasive," Hawke examined her nails in a coquettish fashion, emulating Isabela.

"Something tells me I don't want to know what you mean by that," Anders' ears went pink.

"I would not use the word "persuasive"," Fenris gave Anders a meaningful glance. "Perhaps 'skillful' or 'practiced'. Yes, that fits like a glove."

"Quit teasing, you two," Aveline reprimanded.

Fenris and Hawke stared at each other sheepishly.

Anders touched Fenris in a way that made Hawke think of a child putting his hands on a dog for the first time; unsure, yet outright intrigued. He kept his hands on him for as long as necessary, hurrying away once his diagnosis had been made. If Fenris was bothered by his closeness to Anders, he did not show it. He was cordial, much to Hawke's surprise, and displayed respect to the healer upon concluding the test.

"He's…fine," Anders smirked. "No fever. No chills. Amazing! I don't know what you did Hawke, but whatever it was, it worked like a charm."

"You know, Anders," Hawke said brightly, folding her arms over her chest. "I think that all he really needed was a healthy dosage of tenderness. That…and for someone to knock some sense into him."

Fenris then said caringly "And someone to talk to."

Sebastian's nose wrinkled. "Are you telling me that I ran around Kirkwall and brought back blessed water for no reason at all!"

Everyone but Sebastian cackled until they cried.


	5. Hell

Hello you guys? Having a good April? Hope it's better than mine. X.X I've been totally swamped with work, which is why this thing is out so late. Plus having to go through a bunch of college crap (college SUCKS somtimes). But, eh, life moves on right?

So, well, okay. I think this chapter sucks. The word was "hell" and this thing was hell on Earth to write, ha-ha-ha! Seriously. I'm not happy with it. I think I've just stared at the word document for like...half an hour trying to get a good feel for it, but I came up empty, so I just found a thread and followed it. Another reason why this is late. Not to crazy about it, hoping that the next chapter I post will be better than this crap. Lol. Hope you guys enjoy it somewhat though. I did try my best. But I just couldn't get at what I was going for here. I dunno. I'm completely up in the air about it, can you tell? XD Hawke still doesn't have a name, but I might just not give her one. It's kinda cool this way.

Also, this fic is probably rated T+ or M because, while this is NOT A LEMON, sex is heavily implied.

This chapter isn't connected to any of the other previous chapters. This is my version of Hawke's night after her mother dies (I have a funny story about this quest that I'll probably tell on my profile or something XD). Hedley is an awesome band and this song really helped me finally finish this damn thing. Haha. I'm going to be shortening the length of this collection severely (probably to only like 20 one shots or so) because I want to give writing a chaptered F!Hawke/Fenris story a shot! YAY! I have a few ideas spinning in my head right now, but we'll see. If I start one, it won't probably be until July.

Lastly, I just wanna say how awesome this community is! I mean, really guys, you're great! I get such nice reviews, and I notice that everyone always replies to the reviews I give, and they're so nice and grateful for them. I really appreciate your kindness, and I've decided that I'm going to be just as gracious as you all. Thanks for the inspiration and the encouragement. It's kinda what I live for. In short, all the/my readers and the writers for the F!Hawke Community kick ass!

Review if you wanna! Hope you enjoy. ;)

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><p>Fifth Movement: <em><strong>Hell <strong>_

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><p><em>"And even if it sounds crazy, darling, I won't let you go.<br>And even if it don't ever stop raining, darling, I won't let you go.  
>And even if the world's burning, darling, I won't let you go.<br>Even if it sounds crazy, darling." _

**- Hedley, **_**"I Won't Let You **__**Go (Darling)"**_

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><p>A weight so relentless was crushing her chest, and she couldn't breathe. As she watched the last of the light drain from her mother's eyes, she could feel the core that held the pieces of who she was—her resolve, her optimism, her unwavering kindness—dissipate along with it. She was a hollow shell. A doll without its cotton. A lake without water. Everything had crumbled at her feet, and there was nowhere to walk. Stranded on a spit of land with naught to sustain her.<p>

No. No, this wasn't real. It couldn't be. Yes. It was a dream. A nightmare from the Fade that had her in so deep that she just assumed that this was happening. If she closed her eyes tightly, focused on a single point of reality, she could be dragged out from this vision that could only have been created by a demon. Her eyelids squeezed together, and she thought about Kirkwall. The towering stone edifices with sharp pikes and steep arches. Her mansion in Hightown. The one her mother lived in as a girl. Velvet carpet. Smooth mahogany and oak furnishings. The smell of freesias from the flowerpots. Orana. Bodahn. Sandal.

She thought about Varric, who had a rough voice but a gentle laugh. Chest hair. Bianca. The Hanged Man. Isabela. Her wit and humor. Her beautiful dark hair. Her uncanny aptitude for making her smile even when she didn't want to. A Rivaini. The teaser. Aveline. Hawke's strong arm. She cared for her guardsman and her dear friends. Fereldan. Now a far-off memory. A distant land. Merrill. Her bubbly laugh and her cavalier attitude. How Hawke admired the way she found something good about everything. Happiness. Sebastian. The prince with the holy radiance that could sooth her just by standing close. Blue eyes. Starkhaven brogue. The Chantry. The Circle. Anders, who hated it. Anders, who had the touch of a healer. His eyes were warm and copper colored. He cared about her. And she cared about him. Affection. Love…

Fenris. His distant eyes that always kept her guessing. The way he made her heart beat at a quickened pace. A smile on his lips. Her name a kiss upon them. His hands on her skin. Snow white hair tickling his nose. His beautifully sculpted form. The night they made love. He had held her close, whispered to her things of adoration in a foreign tongue. Absolute pleasure. Desperately she clung to that image in her mind, trying with all her might to bring back that happiness and that pleasure. That could expel this horror. If she opened her eyes now, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that all she would see would just be her bedroom. Maybe Bodahn, Sandal, or, if she was lucky, Fenris, standing over her, persuading her to get up and start the day. And her mother would be there, too. Alive and smiling in that genteel way. Scolding her about marriage and rest.

But when she opened them, there was blood, dirt, and her mother's lifeless corpse in her arms.

And that's when she lost it.

She bawled. A bloodcurdling moan that resonated in the putrid foundry. Tears spurted from her eyes, searing them, and she was sure that they were slicing her cheeks open as they dribbled down. Burying her face in her mother's stomach, she lamented for her loss. Begged for her to return. Demanded that she had lost too much already for there to be more taken from her. The damp tears stained the white dress she was in, and when Hawke looked up at Leandra's face, pale and stationary, she felt unclean. Like touching her mother now could kill her in an instant. Frightfully, she dropped her and skittered away on her hands and knees, confused and anguished.

But she had to hold on to something. Hawke couldn't forgo some kind of comfort. Some kind of solace to let her know that she was here, walking this earth, and not gone like the rest of her family. She stood, and she trembled, neck drenched, clothes tattered, fits balled. Then she threw herself into the arms of whomever it was that was close behind her, and she held onto them with all of her might. Demons nor profanes could tear her from her anchor, and she hid herself inside that person, praying to whatever god or gods existed that they would not resist her.

And they didn't. Whoever it was she was she had forced herself upon held her close, and they smelt of sage, basil and sweet jasmine. An inebriating aroma. Hawke wasn't sure how long they stood together, wrapped in each other's arms, but it must have been too long, because, after a while, the person swept her off of her feet, one arm holding her top half into their chest, the other supporting her wobbly knees. Purposefully, Hawke removed herself from everything around her. Shut off her senses. Took refuge in the one carrying her. She refused to think of her mother, father, Carver or Bethany. She was alone now. Letting their faces cloud her thoughts would only bring back that ache. Hawke had to just not be.

Soon, she inadvertently recognized the softness of her bed in the estate, but the trigger had begun to take a domino effect on her. With touch brought back sound, sight and taste. And the more she kept, the more she would recall. And she couldn't recall. She wasn't ready. Her nails dug into the fabric of her rescuer's outfit, hoping that that was a clear message of what she wanted. They sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair, rocking her like a baby. She pleaded for the person to stay. To protect her. To not let her fall into the darkness.

But it was too late for that.

Hawke had lost what she had left of those that loved her most in one moment.

And she was the only person alive that deserved the blame.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Triumphantly, Fenris tossed his four of a kind down on the table in front of Varric and Guardsman Donnic. He didn't admit it, but this was the first four of a kind he'd ever gotten in a game of poker, not to mention it being in kings. That had to call for some debonair card showing. If not out of pride, but to provoke an outraged reaction from Varric. He never failed to amuse when he was bested, especially if he had a good hand, like he did now.

Varric's fist shook the rickety table of the Hanged Man, making the wine in their mugs shake back and forth like a stormy sea.

"You lucky son of a bitch!" Varric hooted, running his hands through his blonde hair. "I had a straight! You're lucky you aren't Isabela, or I'd call you a cheater."

"I heard that!" Isabela shouted from across the room.

"Call me a liar!" Varric hollered back.

Isabela smirked and turned back to her drink.

"That's what I thought."

"At least you had something worth fighting for," moaned Donnic, resting his chin in his hand and disregarding his pair of nines. "I got shafted. Dammit all."

"That's a little crude coming from you, guardsman," Varric eyed Donnic, intrigued by his slightly vulgar tongue. "Does the Captain allow her men to speak in such a way?"

"On her better days, she's more tolerant of it…" Donnic's eyes tilted up, remembering.

Fenris just snorted, snaking an arm around his diminutive pile of winnings. Furtively, his eyes flitted around the dank tavern, wondering when the rest of their group would finally show up. Fenris had been with Varric and Isabela for the majority of the day, so he had no idea where they had scurried off to. More importantly, he was concerned for Hawke. Fenris would not have called her punctual, but she wasn't consistently late like Merrill. He had no valid reason to fret, but that annoying pang in his stomach continued. He casually tossed his hair from his eyes. No, there was something amiss. He did not fear for Hawke's safety, but he could sense a disturbance, though naming it was the tricky part.

"Hey. Elf," Varric's fingers snapped, dissolving his thoughts. "Eyes over here."

"Ah," he scratched his head sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I my mind wandered."

"Gosh-goly-gee," Varric mocked, eyes widening. "I wonder where? Could it be that you're perturbed by the tardiness of our beautiful hero Hawke?"

Fenis flushed, fiddling with a copper piece. "I am not _**perturbed**_."

"Ahhh, but you don't deny that you were thinking about her?" Varric pointed at him with the jack of clubs. "Somebody's developed a bit of a crush, eh?"

Fenris scowled, averting Varric's accusatory gaze. "I have not—"

"Liar!" Isabela called, making her way over to the men and sliding into a chair beside the former slave. "Don't you put on airs, you stud. Tell him what really happened."

Varric's whole character perked up. "Is that the scent of a story I'm picking up here? And, if my dwarven nose is correct, which it always is, I'm betting it's scandalous too?"

"There's nothing—" Fenris started, but he found himself trailing off.

What could he say? Denying the sexual encounter he had with Hawke months ago would shame her, but confirming it could ruin her reputation as a chaste role model. And if he admitted to their affair, he would also have to add in the fact that he had walked out on her, which didn't go over with Isabela very well when she had found out, so it could be the same with Varric and Donnic, too. Then would come the questions; ones that he made an effort to avoid. Why did he sleep with her? Why did he walk out after such and impetuous and intimate moment? Was it just to fulfill his own selfish needs? Was he drunk or out of his mind? He didn't know how to answer any of them…

Or…did he love her? Yearning coursing through his veins along with the blood and lyrium? Did he walk out because he was afraid? Thought she could find someone better? Didn't think he could have a happy life with her?

If those questions were asked, the appropriate answer would have to be yes.

Of course he loved her. Wanted her daily. He was afraid he would mar her and thought she could be happier with a man less complex as himself. Their passion would burn hot for a while, but he predicted that, as time passed, it would dwindle with a lack of kindling, leaving himself heartbroken. Too many things conspired against him. So he would watch her, pine for her, from afar, protecting, nurturing and adoring her without fear or remorse.

"That sounds like something to me," Donnic added. "You've nothing to worry about. We are your friends after all."

"Now that we've had the mandatory friendship declaration," Varric gestured to Aveline's beau. "please enlighten us, Ser Broody Elf. Or Isabela will."

Fenris was caught between a rock and a hard place, or he believed the saying went. If it did not come from him, there was a chance that Isabela would recant her own twisted version of the events, which did not bode well for him or Hawke. If he confessed, then he would have the guarantee that there would be no untrue rumors or lewd anecdotes tacked on to the explanation. It was the safest bet.

Fenris inhaled, then exhaled.

Folding his arms across his chest, he said daringly "I slept with Hawke."

Donnic straightened, and Varric dropped his hands to the table.

"Your shitting me." The dwarf stated.

"He's not," Isabela chuckled, swallowing a gulp of ale. "They did it. And, according to Hawke, it was hot and dirty."

Fenris blanched. "Did…did she really…say that?"

Isabela shrugged. "Not those exact words."

The elf's jaw clenched.

"It was just the way Hawke made it sound!" Isabela shook her head, her jewelry clanging. "From the way she talked about it, she made it seem like an…_**enjoyable experience**_."

The blood rushed back to his ears and neck. Fenris didn't know whether to be flattered or embarrassed.

"Looks like Hawke thinks you're good in the sack," Varric snorted. "Better keep that under wraps. You'll have even more ladies lined up to gawk at you."

"Or try and get you to prove Hawke right," Isabela said to him seductively.

Donnic laughed, Fenris brought a hand to his face.

"I've yet to see a woman try and bed me," Fenris grumbled, wishing Varric would just start another round of cards.

"You're joking right?" Donnic's brow furrowed. "That serving girl was practically drooling on you when she brought our drinks over?"

Serving girl? He hadn't even noticed a serving girl.

"I'm certain you exaggerate."

"Norah?" Varric guffawed. "You must be dense, you elf. She's got this face like a dead fish every time you walk in here. If _**she **_doesn't want to have your broody babies, I don't know who does."

Instinctively, Fenris sought out Norah the waitress in the hazy, drunken crowd. It took him a minute, but he finally spotted her carrying a tray over to a group of workers he assumed were Fereldan; if their sloppy attire was any indicator, they were probably employees of Hubert's Bone Pit. Fenris noticed that, when it came to features, she was the exact opposite of Hawke. While her hair and eyes were dark and her skin wan, Hawke's were light, and she had a faint tan from her days under the sun in Lothering. Norah was beautiful in her own right, but he found Hawke's features much more exotic.

The barmaid pulled her head up, and she caught him staring. Fenris beamed at her, unsure of what her reaction would be, but interested to see if Varric and Donnic were lying. Just as the dwarf described, she returned his gaze with huge round eyes and an emotionless expression. Alas, Norah was so preoccupied by the elf that she did not notice a very tall man standing between her and the destination of which she was to reach, and the whole tray of drinks collided with his back, soaking him in beer and wine.

Mortified, Norah immediately dropped to her knees and started picking up the empty pint cups, apologizing to the man profusely. A few people laughed, Isabela included, but Fenris felt responsible for her gaffe, and he stood from his seat, ready to assist the poor girl he had distracted. He wished he could say it was unintentional, but he had wanted some kind of reaction out of her, and he took the chance of it being something like this. Therefore, he felt obligated to help.

But Aveline came barreling through the door before he could take one step.

Her hair was lopsided, though not loose from its average style. There was blood and black dirt smeared on her guard uniform, but it was her wild green eyes that set Fenris on edge. She looked as if she'd seen her own death flash before her eyes, and she was powerless to stop it. Glancing at the rest of the group, they seemed just as concerned as he. Even Isabela had risen from her chair at the sight of the captain's disarray.

Donnic was at her side in no time, one hand gently grasping her arm.

"Are you all right, love?"

Aveline nodded to him briskly. She then pointed to the door with her thumb and said "Outside. Now."

Other than the city guard members, Fenris was the first one out of the door, silently praying that Hawke was out of harm's way. Isabela and Varric followed as Aveline led them to the set of hard stairs that led to Hightown, where he, Hawke and the guard resided. Once there, Aveline spun to face them, an exasperated hand pushing the stray hairs from her head out of her face. She looked exhausted.

"What happened?" Fenris said sternly.

"You look like an ogre just pushed you down," Isabela smirked. "Though I doubt that's possible."

"I'm in no mood, Isabela," Aveline mumbled, which was out of character. Isabela was taken aback.

"Where is Hawke?" Fenris pushed, twitching. "Is she all right? Is she hurt?"

Aveline shook her head. "She's alive."

Fenris' stomach fell.

Varric stepped forward. "Where's Blondie? Is he healing her already?"

"No," Aveline "Physically, she's fine. She's in no danger of dying."

"_**Venhedis**_!" Fenris snarled, throwing his hands in the air. "_**Noli terrere mei ita**_! _**Ubi est ipsa**_? _**Da mihi mei Hawke**_!"

"We can't understand you," Isabela sang. "Try speaking a language that we all know!"

Fenris ignored Isabela. He was too furious to speak in the common tongue. What he wanted to say he was not ready for them to hear. But he had to say it out loud, to know that it had been set free, else he might go mad from pent up emotions.

"Putting aside that babble," Varric rubbed his face. "Could you tell us what happened exactly? All this mysteriousness is going to give me a heart attack."

Aveline hung her head and didn't pull it back up when she muttered "Hawke's mother is dead."

Isabela gasped audibly, putting her fingers to her dark lips.

"Bloody flames," Varric swore, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me this is some sick joke."

"I wish it was," the red headed captain plopped down on the bottom step, her lover following suit.

Fenris felt more at ease. Glad that Hawke was out of danger, but woeful for the loss of Leandra. But there was a trickle of uncertainty amongst it, for he couldn't truly sympathize with Hawke, for he had no memory of any kind of family, if he ever had one. He was sure he did, but whether or not he knew who they were was also a clandestine detail. But that didn't take away from Hawke, or the fact that this would be fourth and last of her family left that had been ripped from her. She was hurting. And Fenris' uncomfortable feeling in the tavern now had justification. It was her torment.

"How did she…die?" Donnic asked prudently.

"That's the worst part," Aveline locked eyes with him, then changed to her group. "Hawke's mother had…received white lilies."

Everyone held their breath.

"You mean…" Isabela let her developing question hang.

Aveline pursed her lips, and she spoke blindly. "Those murders were committed by a…blood mage. He was trying to…resurrect his wife and Leandra…looked like her. So he…took pieces from the women he killed and-and…sewed them together…it was disgusting."

"Maleficarum," Fenris spat. Of course it was a mage. Who else could craft such a sinister plot?

"There was nothing any of us could do. Anders said that the magic from the blood mage was…keeping her alive, and, after Hawke killed the bastard, Leandra just…died in her arms."

"Balls…" Isabela groaned, kicking an imaginary rock on the ground.

"No wonder you said she was fine physically," Varric sighed heavily. "Emotionally, she's probably been destroyed. Both her parents and brother gone, and who knows were Bethany is…I'm getting teary just thinking about it."

"Where is she now?" Fenris pushed.

"Home," Aveline got back up on to her feet, her tone steady. She must have needed a moment to just breathe. "Hawke's…a mess, to put it nicely. I've never seen her in such a way. So…weak and helpless. Like a child."

Fenris' heart cracked. He couldn't even bear the thought of it.

"She couldn't even bear to hold Leandra after she died," Aveline continued, giving Donnic's hand a squeeze. "What surprised me even more is that, when she let the body go, she ran to Sebastian."

All of them, including Donnic, froze.

"She _**what**_?" the Rivaini moved closer to the group.

Aveline's eyes caught each of them, wary about going into detail, but doing it anyway.

"She…well, I don't see any way to approach this delicately, so I'll have to be blunt. Hawke just jumped into Sebastian's arms and…didn't move. Just cried her eyes out. Anders took Leandra…or…her body…back to his clinic so he could cremate her. Sebastian carried Hawke back home. I went with them, but Hawke begged him not to leave her, so their probably still at her mansion in Hightown. I came here alone."

A wave of mild jealously washed through Fenris. She had pleaded for him not to leave her, but was she so quick to replace him? And with Sebastian no less? A prince who had taken a vow of chastity? That didn't sound like his Hawke in the slightest.

"Wait a second, wait a second, wait a second," Varric waggled his hands. "You're telling me that Hawke threw herself at _**Choir Boy**_?"—Varric looked back at Fenris—"What happened to you?"

"Fenris never finished his story, Varric," Isabela teased. "He never told you about the part where he _**dumped her like a sack of rotten potatoes**_."

At that moment, Fenris wanted to rip out some of Isabela's organs and juggle them.

"Has all that lyrium gone to your head, or are you just dumb?" Varric slapped his palm to his face.

"I left for reasons too personal to explain, dwarf. Do not judge me without knowing the truth."

"I'm not saying you had your reasons, it's the principle of the thing! Even _**I **_wouldn't leave a woman that amazing."

"Do not make light of this," Fenris bit. "Just because I…it doesn't mean I do not care for her."

Varric ogled him as though he had called a demon harmless.

"Yup, I was right, you're dumb."

"I am not."

"My ass. As of right now, you're the biggest idiot I know."

"You—" Fenris growled.

"Enough!" Aveline interjected, firm and matronly. "Stop fighting. The past doesn't matter. Hawke is distraught and she needs us to be there for her. Do you realize she's all alone now? Everyone that loved her is either gone or_** dead**_!"

Fenris shifted. That was not true. He loved her. More than words could express. But Aveline did have a point. Hawke had lost everyone, save for her cohorts. They were the only ones left to let her know how much she was valued and appreciated. The only ones left that could help her when she was in trouble, celebrate with her when she succeeded, comfort her when she was at her lowest. She needed someone to encourage her. To praise her. To lend her a hand when she had nowhere else to go.

She needed someone to tell her that she was loved. How beautiful she was. How generous and loving she was. And he was more than willing to be that person.

Fenris could not find any empathy within him. He could not tell her that she would be okay; he didn't know. He'd never gone through this, and creating such feelings was a task even impossible to mages. But he could offer his shoulder to cry on. Hold her in the dark of night and swear on pain of death that he would never abandon her. Kiss her tears away. Cloud her mind with warmth and longing. And that had to count for something…right?

Confidantly rolling his shoulders, Fenris sprinted.

"And jus where are _**you**_ going?" Isabela hollered.

Fenris decided to let Isabela figure that one out on her own.

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Sebastian was standing in a semi-circle by Hawke's self-appointed manservant Bodahn and his vividly unique son Sandal when Fenris came leaping in through the door. Sandal's normally wide expression distended at the sight of him, while Sebastian jumped a little at his sudden appearance. Bodahn, however, just smiled knowingly at him. The elf eyed Sebastian with great interest. Aveline had said that Hawke had thrown herself about him like a child groping for the protection of their parents, but the adventurous girl was nowhere to be seen. Fenris did notice the dark splotches that had the makings of water stains on the exposed black cloth by the left side of his chest.

Awkwardly, Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, and Fenris broke his gaze, realizing the prince must have discovered that he was scrutinizing him.

"Good evening, messare," Bodahn said with incongruous merriment.

"How is she?" Fenris said to the man from Starkhaven. "I…only just heard…"

Sebastian's visage took on agony and grief. "I've never seen Hawke in such a state. Even so, after such a traumatic event…I'm not surprised at her unconventional behavior. I just wish there was something I could say to make it right. But no words from a mortal man such as I would have any effect."

Fenris took a step closer to Sebastian. The scent of Hawke was fresh on him. Traitorous envy fleetingly turned his blood to ice.

"Aveline said she was…inconsolable."

Sebastian lazily pointed to his damp shirt. "She's been crying for hours. More than crying. Wailing. That's why I'm wet."

"She cried on you?"

Sebastian's face colored, and he chuckled uneasily. "Hawke, ah, tackled me out of the blue when she started to break down. I carried her all the way back here, but she wouldn't let me go…"

Fenris sized him up again; with less disdain this time. "I…see."

Sebastian's whole figure slumped. "I feel so badly for her. I couldn't leave Hawke after seeing what transpired in that foundry. So...I stayed with her until she…passed out, as it were."

Fenris' contracted his eyes to a half-glare. "That was…a very kind deed, Sebastian. Thank you for…consoling Hawke."

Sebastian let his features soften. "It was the least I could do. I'm acquainted with her bane, and that caused a sensation of disquiet in me. Because I knew what it was like to lose everything. There is nothing that can be said or done to completely lance a wound like that. But receiving that which you believe you need can be the most mollifying thing. Hawke helped to placate me when my family died. It's only natural that I should want to do the same."

This set Fenris off kilter. Hawke running to Sebastian…made sense. They were not that different when it came to the misfortunes of their lives. Both had had change forced upon them in the cruelest way possible. Both knew the woe that came with losing loved ones so suddenly. Both just wanted to live their lives in peace and quiet, absent of hatred and war. The more Fenris was able to connect, the more insecure he felt. She was no longer his. There was nothing stopping her from moving on with Sebastian and starting fresh. He could love her much better than Fenris could. He had no fear of moving forward. He could give her anything her heart desired. Sebastian could make her a princess, which was no less than what Hawke truly deserved. He should encourage the notion and be happy for her possibilities. It was the

But why did the whole idea leave him feeling…vacant?

Sebastian cleared his throat. He must have sensed his inner turmoil, if the concerned light in his blue eyes was any indicator. That was something about Sebastian that filled Fenris with disquiet. He was very good at reading people.

"You should see if she's awake," Sebastian's demeanor tempered. "Hawke hasn't been asleep long. And I think she wants to talk to you."

Fenris took a step back. "Why do you think that?"

Sebastian chortled as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Because I could hear her mumbling your name in her sleep."

Crimson painted Fenris' neck, ears and face. He went from hollowness to embarrassment in two seconds flat. With a tiny hint of flattery blended in.

"Yes, well…perhaps you are right. Yes, I should, ah…I should probably check to see if she's awakened. I—um—wouldn't want to disturb her if she still…slumbers, however. Yes."

Sebastian pushed his mouth to the side. "You do not want to disturb her? You look like all you want to do right now is disturb her."

"I—I am concerned for her state of mind," the elf huffed, turning on his heel. "Hawke is probably too fatigued to speak at any rate. I will check and be on my way."

"Very well, Fenris," Sebastian's voice warbled as he concealed his amusement.

"It never gets boring around her, does it, m'boy?" Bodahn said covertly to his son.

It didn't take long for Fenris to bound up the short staircase, but when he reached the doors to Hawke's quarters, his hand hesitated over the handle. Feather light, he could catch the sound of hiccupping cries on the other side of the door. It took Fenris back to a moment from his past; a child he had seen in Minrathous, blubbering because it was frightened of the people combing the streets. Each had a right to dismay.

"Oh, _amasiuncula,_" Fenris pressed his forehead to the door, which was surprisingly cool.

'…_What have they done to you? Is this beyond my repair?' _

There was no way to know. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Fenris opened the door.

He spotted Hawke on the floor, curled up in a ball in front of her fireplace, sniffling. Her blond hair was matted, and there were smears of blood littered over the armor she had not taken off. While her face was not visible, he imagined it to be swollen and tear-stained, yet beautiful nonetheless. At the sight of her, his heart surged with despondency for his love and resentment for any blood mage that walked Thedas. He had to do something. He just had to.

He would do anything to bring her smile back.

"_Nocet mihi…tibi videre ita_…" Fenris found himself saying, clenching and unclenching his fists.

His voice reverberated within her, and Hawke shook and spun around to face him. Sure enough, everything about her shrieked wretchedness and defeat. Dark circles made her eyes sag. Red lines streaked the whites of her eyes. Her lips were dry and cracked, and she smelt of death. But the color in her irises seemed to be dull, and the aura of gladness that enveloped her daily was just…not there. Replaced by a black and solemn air. He had never seen her in such a fashion. It perturbed him. It motivated him.

When Hawke perceived him, she slumped, and pulled her head to the floor.

"My mother…is gone."

"I…know."

Just her eyes darted back up.

"I…heard from Aveline. She came to the Hanged Man. Had I—"

But he couldn't finish that sentence. There was no way Fenris could have changed the outcome of this. So he said what he thought was right.

"I don't know what to say…but I am here."

More tears seeped through her eyes, and she covered her mouth briefly. Fenris felt his own heart breaking, begging her to tell him what she needed. If there was anything in his power that could make her better, though he knew there would be nothing that could completely ease her. Just distract her.

"Am…I to blame?" she whimpered. "For not saving her?"

Fenris chose his next words with care. "I…could say no, but…would that help? You are…looking for forgiveness. But…I am not the one the one who can give it to you."

Her eyes became wild then, as though she could hear his voice in every corner of the room, but she could not see him. Moving quickly, Fenris kneeled at her side and took both hands in his, clutching them tightly. Hawke's breathing became ragged, and her chest flew up and down from the short but deep inhales she was taking. Lips quivering, sweat pouring from her brow. Fenris recognized this. She was going into shock. What had he said?

"You're right," she gasped. "Nothing…nothing will…make this…better. She's gone. Gone. And…I'm…alone…"

"No," Fenris said vehemently. "That is something you are not. You will never be alone, Hawke. Not while there is life in me."

At the sound of his words, a drop of harmony rippled through her. Her tongue moistened her dry lips, and she ran a hand down her locks to try and break the kinks. The squall inside her had ceased to rage, and her old self burst through this glum shell like a beautiful butterfly from an old cocoon.

"Fenris." Hawke was tender, but there was something else behind it that made him want to lean in closer.

He did.

"Are you…all right?" Fenris said to her mouth.

"No," she whispered. But she didn't sound sad. She sounded…hungry.

Oh, Maker.

Fenris swallowed a huge lump in his throat, making it groan like a frog.

"I would like to…help you, Hawke." he noticed that their hands were linked. "Tell me what it is you wish…and it is done."

Their eyes met, and sparks soared between them. Fenris suddenly felt too warm all over. Hawke was in a fragile state right now. She was psychologically frail. Vulnerable. Needy. She wanted to be comforted and reassured that, no matter what, there would be someone beside her to love her and take care of her while she took care of everyone else, and Fenris' gut told him that the person of her choice to fill that role would be him. She wanted him, and she _**wanted **_him. To very diverse things that were identifiable by any man. But that wasn't the real issue. It was whether or not he would comply.

The first time they had slept together was paradise to him. It was, as still remained, the happiest moment of his life. Yet, the frustration of his memories that had been stripped by Danarius slipping from his grasp had thrown the truth into his head. There was so much about his own self that he didn't even know; there was too much that had yet to be done before Fenris could let himself have a normal life. In the beginning, the task seemed effortless.

But what he did not plan on was a beautiful human girl teaching him what it meant to fall in love.

Wasn't that more important than anything? Wasn't that what the definition of being in love was; putting them before you? If asked whose life mattered more, his own or Hawke's, the answer was transparent. It was her. So did that mean he was in love with her? By definition, yes. But in earnest?

Even though he dreaded the past becoming unreachable, would he love her tonight if she asked? If it would help her grieve? If it could give her that one moment of happiness he was looking for not so long ago?

Fenris didn't have to think twice about it.

Treading with caution, Fenris dropped one of her hands to gently stroke her flush, sticky cheek. Their eyes never wavered, his full of flowers and cool breezes, hers full of broken glass and rain.

"Tell me…" he half-growled. "Tell me how I can end your pain."

Hawke sniveled, using her free hand to wipe her face. "I must look awful."

"You look grief-stricken. That is not awful."

Hawke's mouth twisted up. "I've seen myself, you know. I look like I lost a wrestling match with a Qunari."

Hawke's sarcasm shone forth. He must have done something right.

Fenris copied her smirk. "Your first mistake was thinking that wrestling with a Qunari was a good idea. I can put my fist through a man's chest, and I wouldn't even take the venture."

"Well, I had to wrestle something. Maker knows how dull my life is."

Fenris just couldn't resist. He took hold of her chin.

"Wrestle me, then."

Hawke tensed, eyes burrowing into his, combing them for any type of jest. She must have believed the innuendo was a trick of her ear; she was hearing something that wasn't really there. But it was there. Fenris wanted her to see that.

"Are you…flirting with me?" she said it as if it had never happened before.

"What if I'm not?" he countered.

"Then I would say, 'challenge accepted'."

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "And if I am?"

Hawke opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. He could see the confusion and anticipation stumbling within her. He knew she wanted to believe in his words, but she also didn't want to waltz right into a trap. Fenris couldn't blame her or feel offended. The last time they had acted so intimate, it had led in deflection and rejection, mostly on her part. But he had to hope that she could sense his genuineness and unabashed adoration, though none of it was completely forthright.

Her grew to the size of dinner plates, then shrunk back. This was spontaneity attempting to take the reins from her. Hawke was willing to take the plunge. But would she? Would he have to make the first move? He did not so long ago, when he acknowledged that she clouded his every waking thought. The ball was in her court. What would her choice be?

Whilst his mind racked questions, she jumped towards him, their lips ramming together. One ramshackle kiss evolved into a clumsy fray of clothes and skin; hers, then his.

Heartbeat hammering in their ears, they took each other away from the world that had broken them. And, just like last time, he had never felt so wonderful in all his long years.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Hawke stretched, a sharp sting snaking down her body. Her muscles were sore and screaming from yesterday's intensive usage; her legs in particular were quite aggrieved. But there was serenity that had blossomed somewhere inside of her, albeit the horrible images of her mother that didn't seem to disappear when she tried to shove them out. The foundry. That blood mage's eerie voice. Her mother's foul husk of a form. And weeping. Oh, the weeping. Each part pierced, but with much less potency.

Wiggling her toes, Hawke had an urge to hold something that she didn't see coming; it was similar to the one she felt mere hours ago when she couldn't even look on the sunken, patchwork Leandra that was supposed to be her mother. The sensation wasn't atypical; even as a child, she could remember countless times where, at her worst, she would run into the arms of her parents in search of a sanctuary. Despite the fact she was an adult, her mother had embraced her when her father and when Carver passed away. Even when Bethany left, Leandra had been there.

But now, there was no one. No one to murmur encouragements. She would have to hold herself. Reassure herself. It was time to be a big girl.

Nevertheless, it didn't mean she was barred from crying.

Tentatively, Hawke rolled over onto her side, curled into a shoddy ball, and reached over for one of her feather pillows that she could bury her face into.

Instead, she touched something warm.

And hard.

And it felt more like skin than fabric.

_'…What the…' _

The lids of her eyes flew back from the strange texture, and Hawke's tongue lolled out from her mouth.

Fenris was there. In her bed. One arm was by his side while the other closest to her was draped over his face. The mop of white hair on his head was frazzled, and there was a light snoring coming from his mouth and nose. The morning light cast on his markings made them twinkle, and helped to accentuate the chiseled muscles on his chest and abdomen. Realizing what she was seeing, Hawke lifted his section of the comforter off of him and instantly noticed he was nude. They both were. Throwing back down, Hawke cupped a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping, utilizing all of her willpower to keep her from staring at his handsome body. He was scrumptious morsel to behold.

The night's events were sluggishly tiptoeing back to her. Fenris had come to her, saw her hysterical, comforted her, she had kissed him, and then…

Fenris grunted groggily in his sleep.

Hawke turned to look at him once again, careful as to not to make a sound. Though she was wide awake, he was submerged in slumber. His arm had scooted up a bit, revealing his entire face, which seemed strikingly pacific, going against his customary attitude of raging silently. This new look was…sexy, to say the least.

Unable to resist temptation, Hawke inclined her face to his, breathing in once to inhale his natural scent, which, to her, was an aphrodisiac in its own right. It was a curious blend of spices and a dash of morning forest; calming her senses, yet stimulating her drive to be as close to him as possible.

When only a few centimeters separated them, a garish voice in the back of her head demanded her to kiss him. Just once, to make sure that he was real and this was not some sort of hoax created by a demon. That was the only way it could all make sense. Fenris had left her; he had told her that they wouldn't be doing anything this intimate anymore. There was no way he could be here unless he had gone back on his word. Last night, however; that was no illusion. Her former lover had shown up here after the tragic passing of her mother. That had to mean that this wasn't a hallucination either. Which meant she did kiss him.

And they did make love. Again.

Hawke puckered her lips.

But, before she could plant them, a boisterous banging shook her bedroom door.

"Rise and shine, dearest Hawke!" Isabela crooned. "Guess who brought you breakfast!"

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Merrill squeaked. "Hawke could be sleeping. Wouldn't it be rude to wake her up? She might be having such a wonderful dream..."

"Who gives two shits?" Varric grumbled; irritated for being up early. "Hawke! Get your lazy ass outta bed! Don't make me come in there!"

"Damn," Fenris swore behind her.

Hawke pulled her blanket around her, feeling exposed. She flung herself around to grab him, but he was already out of bed and half dressed. Dissatisfaction gnawed at her heart.

"Don't go!" she found herself hissing.

Fenris gaped at her, stunned by her words, though his hands kept tying his belt to his hips.

"_Dimitte mei_, _carissimi_," He whispered as loudly as he could, tightening the buckles on his armor with lighting speed. Once he was fully clothed, he crawled back onto her bed and kissed her hard on the mouth. "_Sum relinquenda tibi. Gratias quia priore noctis. Faciens amoris ad tibi sit mirabilis_…"

"I don't speak Tevinter, Fenris!" Hawke grabbed his fake. "Human here! Common, okay? _**Common**_!"

"Hawke, are you dead?" Isabela asked innocently.

"I'm seriously about to bust down the door here!" Varric added.

"Be right with you!" she called out, hoping she didn't sound as panicky as she felt.

Hurriedly, Fenris retraced his sentence, pecking his lips on her neck, chin and ears. "Forgive me, dear. I must leave you."

"Don't go…" Hawke groaned, secretly hoping his mouth would journey lower.

"I must. Thank you for last night…"

His snowy hair itched her nose as he brought his head up, smashing their foreheads together. Though breath was malodorous during the mornings, Fenris was not, which, for some reason, didn't surprise her in the least. There were some things about him that were too perfect to be true. She didn't know whether it was an elf thing or just a Fenris thing. Hawke cared not, regardless.

In a provocative tone, Fenris muttered "Making love to you is wonderful…"

"Then stay," Hawke balled her fists. "I'll tell them to leave. It can be just you and me. We'll make love…I'll be yours…all day."

"No more, Hawke," Fenris snapped, smiling. "You tempt me."

Hawke allowed her blanket to slip from her frame. "Will it get you to stay?"

Fenris eyes darted between her bare chest and face. "If I could, I would. I would make you mine. You would know nothing but my wild love for you. I would make it so that you would want no man other than me. That no man could ever please you like I could."

"Do it," Hawke found herself beseeching. "Ruin me. Ravish me."

Regret scrunched up the elf's face. "I cannot."

"Hawke!" Anders' voice rang out. "Are you all right? Do you need something? I'm here for you, you know that…"

"I'm find, Anders, really!" Hawke's cheer sounded a little too cheery. "I'll be out in a moment! I'm just…a little disheveled from last night."

"Take your time, Hawke," was Anders' last comment.

Fenris glowered. "My desire to reconsider has grown immensely."

"Enough to get you to stay?" Hawke inquired, anticipative.

"I am sorry, dearest," Fenris kissed Hawke's cheek. "But I cannot stay."

"Why?" she whined as her lover made his way over to her window. "Why does it matter to you? Do you not want them to know?"

Fenris' face was deadpanned. "Yes."

Hawke fumed. "Why? Are you that ashamed of me?"

"Of course not!" Fenris refuted. "Do you want to make your sexual encounters so obvious to everyone?"

"Well…no…" Hawke chewed her cheek. "Now that you mention it, it would be a little awkward for everyone."

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. "To be honest, I do not want Isabela and Varric gossiping about us like rich girls at the Hanged Man over a pint."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "I was taking Merrill and Anders into account as well."

Snorting, Fenris reveled. "Had it just been him, I would have invited him in. Let him stew in a boiling cauldron of envy. Fitting for an abomination."

"You're horrible, Fenris."

"Yet there you sit, naked in bed, begging me to have my way with you," Fenris winked. "I must not be that bad, then. Or have you changed your mind about throwing yourself at Sebastian?"

"Hey," Hawke pointed at him. "I didn't even know that was Sebastian. I was scared! Also, I didn't say anything about you as a person. I just said I wanted sex."

A light shone in Fenris eyes. "And, apparently, you've been boasting to Isabela that you think I'm rather good at it."

Hawke's complexion became swamped by redness.

"It's…because I'm enamored with you. You've already ruined me. I'm just waiting on the ravishing part."

Fenris' smile couldn't have been bigger. "I am yours, dearest. But now, I must go."

"Wait!" Hawke barked, stopping him before he could jump out the window. "I…have something I want to ask you."

Fenris did not move an inch.

"Why….why did you do it? Come over here and comfort me. Sleep with me. You told me you didn't want to…be with me. So…why?"

A perplexing stare affixed itself to Fenris eyes, and she saw that he was unconsciously shifting from left to right, as though he were too nervous to actually come out and give an honest answer. A few minutes of that ticked by, then he finally scratched his head and looked back up at her, love exuding out of him like a broken dam.

"I…will never let you go, Hawke. I am compelled to be with you. Rain or shine. I cannot fight this…whatever it is that is pulling me towards you. When I heard that…that you had been suffering…I knew I had to do something. Lift your spirits, if I could. I slept with you because I am smitten with you, and because I knew I could take you from that horrid place. This must all sound…ridiculous…"

Tears gathered in her eyes. She had never loved him so much as she did right then. "No. It doesn't sound ridiculous…"

Fenris slung one leg out of her windowpane, elated. "I adore you. I will return shortly. Promise me, Hawke. Promise me you will remember that you are not alone. I...will always be here."

Her mother, her father, Carver and Bethany flashed in her mind. They were gone. She would, most likely, never see any of them again. But Fenris was right. She was not alone. Not as long as one person who loved her still remained by her side. How blind could she have been? Wallowing in such pity that it had almost drowned her? That was not her. She was a Hawke, and Hawkes were courageous and persistent. She had the strength to continue to live, even though life might have seemed like the Void itself.

Blowing him a kiss, she watched Fenris as he glowed with a blue brillance, summoning the speed and strength to help him climb down the side of her mansion to the ground. Waving to her once, he sped off in the direction of his own home, her heart beating on time with his footsteps.

And if she ever ran out, she could always borrow some from the elf that lived next door.


	6. Impossible

Hey, everybody! Hope the rest of your April was awesome! Mine actually got better because I got a few more days off from work (but mostly because I got that horrible seasonal bug that keeps you in bed, so I had a bunch more time to write. What a double edged sword. I'm partly grateful I got sick! Hahaha.

I have to say that this is probably one of my favorites for this collection so far. When I saw the word "impossible", I didn't know what exactly I wanted to do with it, but after racking my brain, I decided on this little number, which is my version of what happens after Hawke defeats the Arishok in one-on-one combat for Isabela. I know Fenris does suggest the duel if Isabela doesn't come back, but I really liked having Isabela in my party. She's funny. XD So I decided to do it this way. The word "impossible" here is tied to living without someone you love dearly, which I feel like we can all relate to! And the song was an obvious choice. :P

Also, there is a bit of Anders/F!RogueHawke in here, but don't let it fool you! This Hawke belongs to Fenris alone. ;) And there is some implied sexual comments as well as some other actual racy comments, so this is probably rated T to T plus. Feel free to point out my typos as well, and I'll go back and fix them. Still have to do that with the other chapters...I'm not exactly the best editor around when it comes to my own work...

As a reminder, I'm shortening the length of this collection. It'll be somewhere between 12 and 20 one shots. I really love this community. Everyone is so nice and honest and helpful. And I really appreciate everyone who has made me feel welcome and who enjoys reading what I write. Wouldn't be here without you guys!

I'll never say no to reviews! Here's number six! :)

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><p>Sixth Movement: <em><strong>Impossible<strong>_

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><p>"<em>So keep breathing.<em>

_'Cause I'm not leaving you anymore._

_Believe it. _

_Hold on to me and never let me go." _

**- ****Nickelback, **_**"Far Away"**_

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><p>With a swift parry, Hawke managed to by herself enough time to dodge the great metal monster that was the Arishok's axe, the slick blade coming down into the carpet of the Viscount's throne room, ripping a hole large enough for Varric to contentedly slip through. The sight of the tear was enough to make Hawke's knees quake, but she forced both of them to remain stationary. Showing fear to the Arishok would only result in a massive loss of respect, and the fact that he did not find her completely disgusting was the only thing she had in her arsenal against these colossal Qunari.<p>

Muttering something Hawke assumed was from the Qun, the Arishok spun both weapons in a full circular revolution in his hands and turned back to his self-proclaimed "basalit-an" (which Hawke had decided meant "one who receives countless death threats from the Arishok" in their vernacular). His eyes were small, like most Qunari, but they held a destructive passion and a thirst for control that she'd never seen in any living being—elf nor dwarf nor human.

Hawke was not easily frightened, but, in the last few months, this was the face that had haunted her darkest nightmares; the face that she felt would bring the destruction of Kirkwall, leaving a fiery, bloodstained mire in his wake. She alone was the sole member of the City of Chains that had the mettle to stand up for him, and, as Hawke had dreaded, that oncoming storm had finally arrived, and she now carried the weight of so many innocents on her shoulders; Hawke wished she could rid herself of the heavy burden, but she had gone past the point of no return. There was nothing she could do but just bear it.

Rolling his shoulders, the gigantic Qunari turned his weapons away from her, lowering his body into a half-crouch. Hawke quickly recognized the stance as a preemptive charge. Swallowing a lump the size of a lemon in her throat, Hawke copied his movement, watching him intently, preparing to react when he made the lunge. She also noticed that the lump also burned going down, much like the juice of said fruit, too.

He came barreling towards her, the sound of his running echoing throughout the spacious room. With the grace of a lioness, Hawke waited until he was close enough to her before dropping to the ground, and ramming her elbow into the Arishok's knee with all her might. Pain shot up her arm, and she tried her best to choke back the distressed moan, and the noise that came out reminded her of the call of a goose that she'd heard as a child near the plains in Lothering. It felt as if the bone had struck a solid block of red steel, and Hawke knew that, if the bone wasn't broken, it was badly sprained.

Nevertheless, her efforts were not in vain, as the Arishok came tumbling down like a building struck from a rock thrown by a catapult. Both his armaments were sent flying into the air, landing by the right wall. They looked so much less menacing by themselves. Propelling herself with her good arm, Hawke tumbled out of the way as the Arishok met the same fate as his arms, grunting hoarsely as he did so.

Hawke had to act fast, and she had to act now. This opportunity was a gift, and she could not squander it. She reached for her daggers that hung patiently on her back and sprinted to her foe. Ending this hastily was the best way to avoid further injury, as her whole forearm had begun to throb from the risky strike she had made. Leaping at the Qunari leader, Hawke jumped and brought both daggers down, attempting to plunge them straight into his back in order to pierce his heart.

But the Arishok was two steps ahead of her. Flipping over onto his back, he snatched up Hawke by her ankle and squeezed much harder than necessary to get a firm grip. Nausea inundated her as she heard a strange crack and a wet sounding smack. The next thing she knew, the room was moving around her, and her back collided with something hard and unmovable.

Hawke blinked several times, but the world around her couldn't come back into focus. Her eyes floated in her head, and she let them wander all around until she caught the hazy sight of her foot, which seemed to be no longer attached to her leg.

'…_No…' _Hawke pleaded. _'It…can't end like this…' _

But what else could she do? Her vision was failing. Hawke had no left foot and she'd been drained of her very last drop of stamina. At this rate, if she tried to fight any longer, the Arishok would kill her in less time than it took to snap his fingers. He was going to kill her regardless. There was nowhere left for her to run. Her options had dwindled.

Hawke had fought long and hard for this city; a city that meant absolutely nothing to her. She was Fereldan. A foreigner. The only reason why she ended up in this place was because of that damned Blight that razed Lothering to the ground. She had lost everything because of the Blight or this cursed place. That ogre would have never attacked Carver had the Blight not destroyed Lothering. Bethany would not be with the Grey Wardens now if it wasn't for the darkspawn in the Deep Roads, which she could blame both the Blight and Kirkwall for. And, last but certainly not least, her mother would be alive, right now, if it weren't for a mad Marcher mage. Yet she had put her life on the line for something that had caused her naught but anguish. Why? What had she been thinking?

"On _**your feet**_, Hawke!" someone called out to her, their voice desperate.

"Get up! _**Get**_. _**Up**_!" another one cried.

"Keep fighting!"

"You can't give in!"

"Come on, Hawke!"

Although she did not know who her supporters were, their words sent resolve straight into her veins. They were right. No matter what, if she wasn't battling this enemy for the sake of the city of Kirkwall, she was doing it because she knew it was the right thing to do. Because it was the only way to stop the Arishok's unsuitable tyranny. The only thing between him and the deaths of countless guiltless lives was her, and she could not sit idly by and watch him take everything. Carver nor Bethany nor Mother…not even the great Malcolm Hawke could do that.

Gritting her teeth, Hawke grip the sides of a cylindrical beam in the throne room and used it as a crutch to help her stand. The pressure on her damaged ankle was almost insufferable, yet Hawke successfully pushed the stinging out of her mind and did her best to find the hazy form of the Arishok as well as her weapons.

The two daggers were back where the Arishok had been, which was about half way across the room. There was no way she could make it there. The Arishok, however, was currently picking up his own sword and axe from where they had skittered off to. Once they were back where they were supposed to be, he started making his way to her, albeit he seemed to be taking his time.

Meaning he either no longer saw her as a threat, or he was merciful enough to give her time to defend herself. But the latter could have been directly linked to the other. Best case scenario, Hawke would be allowed a brief farewell before her untimely end.

Scrambling, Hawke's eyes darted to the floor around her, hoping there was something there that she could use to defend herself. Mostly there were just two handed swords; something that would be useful to someone like Aveline or Fenris, but they were inoperable for her. The only thing that she managed to find was one single arrow that had been misfired from a bow, the tip sharp and the shaft undamaged. It was made of stable wood, and it would serve as a good meager defense, until she could find a way to her true weapons.

Gripping it like a blade, Hawke leaned against the stone beam and watched the Arishok's approach as best as she could, listening to the hypnotic yet forboding swish of his strange, waist down robe. She would just have to wait until he got close enough, then jab at his face and, with luck, hit one of his eyes. That would buy her enough time to find something that she could effectively kill him with.

The shadow of the Arishok enveloped her as he closed the gap between them. He reeked of blood, sweat and sea water, and she could feel the heady exhales from his nose tickle her cheeks. Hawke didn't know why, but all she wanted to do at that moment was cry. She missed her family, and she longed for a comfy bed to lounge in and a tub of hot water for her bruises and cuts. She wanted home; whether or not she meant her estate or her shack in Lothering…she wasn't sure.

But one thing was certain. Hawke wanted her family. She wanted her father to sing her a lullaby, like he used to do when she would have nightmares. She wanted her mother to make her famous hot apple pie and tell her that everything would always work out for the best. Hawke wanted Carver to come and put frogs down her back like he used to do when she made him angry. She wanted Bethany to braid her hair and talk to her about silk dresses and handsome boys. She wanted the musky air of Lothering. The sounds of farm animals greeting her when she woke up. The peals of laughter from little children and the melodious hymns echoing from the slapdash Chantry there.

She wanted her normal life back.

But she was never going to get it back.

And if things kept going the way they were, she wouldn't even have a life to long for.

Twirling her improvised weapon, Hawke, thrust the arrow in the general direction of the Arishok's face, but she did not feel the tip break skin. Instead, she felt one of his hands, which were three times the size of her own, snake around her wrist and wrench around, twisting it so far in a direction Hawke knew that it was not supposed to go in.

This scream she could not stifle, and she felt the bones split, demolishing her best sword arm.

She was going to die.

'…_It won't be so bad…' _she tried to tell herself.

It wouldn't be, not really. To be with her parents and brother again? To never have to worry about Kirkwall or Qunari or mages or templars or pain or being alone ever again? She should have been elated by this. This was the freedom she craved. And it wasn't like as though people couldn't get along without her. They'd done so for most of their lives. She worried for Bethany, but she had comrades to care for her now. Bethany didn't need her anymore. No one needed her.

Casting her eyes towards the steep stairwell of the room, Hawke allowed herself to gaze upon her precious friends for one last time. She forced a wide smile, praying that they would take it as a sign that she cared for them greatly, and would watch over them. That had always been the plan, anyhow. She couldn't just leave them alone. She would miss them too much. Varric, Merrill, Anders…

But then the world stopped turning, and her sight became clear.

Because the first face she saw was that of Fenris, the elf she pined for.

And the single tear that was rolling down his cheek.

He was crying.

Crying for her.

How could she have been so stupid?

That one tear, that one single, corporeal gesture was all she needed to revive her desire to live.

She had someone she loved.

As though her injuries had never been sustained, Hawke yanked her arm back into place and made another stab at her opponent. This one didn't miss. The pointed tip of the arrow sunk into the neck of the Arishok, blood spurting out from the puncture. Red pooled out from his mouth, and he gagged, stumbling back and clutching his throat with the hand that used to hold his lethal axe. She had changed the tide of the match, but Hawke wasn't done.

Seeing an opening, she stuck the arrow back into the same gash that he had, this time pulling it so as to widen the wound. Tacky Qunari blood painted her face and hair, but she would not stop. She could not. Dying was no longer an option, and she refused to admit defeat.

Blinking twice, she took in the scene of the Arishok. His eyes that had been so sinister moments ago were now shocked and vacant, and the blood that had come from his own body melded together with his tribal war paint, and Hawke could not tell where one ended and the other began. Sputtering in the throat that was no longer there, the Arishok gasped out one last sentence.

"We shall…return…"

And then the body of the Qunari that had beleaguered her for so long slumped over, never to move again.

"The city has been_** saved**_!" exclaimed a bystander.

Hawke was proud of her victory, but she would have to wait to start the celebration.

Because her body was now catching up with her, and the blood from her ankle was soaking through her leather boots, and she couldn't feel anything past her elbow on her right arm.

Hawke swooned, legs buckling from underneath her. Pain and a disgusting feeling dampness overwhelmed her senses, and Hawke through her head away from the applauding crowd to vomit at the dead Arishok's feet. All she heard after that was thunder. Lots of thunder, but she saw no flashes of light. She felt her eyelids open and close, but each time she could only see a black slate. Had she gone blind?

"I-I can't…" she wheezed, unable to exhale properly.

"She's badly wounded," said a tender voice. It was familiar. She knew that voice.

"Anders," she struggled to speak.

"We're getting you out of here, Hawke," Anders replied in a way that reminded her of her mother.

"I…I can't…"

"Hush, now, love," the healer placed a finger upon her lips. "Rest now. I'll take care of everything. I swear to you."

Hawke allowed her lids to shut, though it didn't make much of a difference. Everything was still dark. But try as she might, she could not sleep, but she could not keep herself conscious, so she drifted to a place that was somewhere between here and the Fade; a place where she felt no pain, but a place where she could hear and feel what was happening around her.

"Someone needs to carry her. She's in danger," Anders whispered.

"Let me," a smoky voice chimed in. It was Fenris. It had to be.

'_Fenris!' _Hawke tried to say, but it her lips would not obey. _'Are you there?' _

"Are you sure you can be fast enough?" challenged what Hawke assumed to be Varric.

"I will run as if the wind were at my heels."

"Good enough," Anders added. "Take her to her home in Hightown. Varric and I will follow."

"Sebastian, Merrill, Isabela and I will stay here to deal with the citizens and the Chantry," Aveline's matter-of-fact attitude was easy enough to discern.

"Isabela's…gone," squeaky Merrill said dejectedly.

"I saw her slip out when the Qunari left," Sebastian's voice was like a balm for her soul. "I don't know where she went, but I don't have much faith that she'll be returning any time soon."

"I agree," Aveline snorted. "Blasted whore. She's the one that got Hawke into this mess."

"There's no point in arguing about it now," Anders snapped.

Two strong arms snaked themselves underneath Hawke's head and behind her knees, and the sensation of her being lifted up in the air made her a tad queasy, but she kept her breathing steady. If Fenris was the one carrying her, she had no desire to empty the contents of her stomach onto his chest. Revolting and mortifying.

The thundering noise filled her ears once again, and Hawke deduced that it came from the pitter-patter of Fenris', Anders' and Varric's feet as they sprinted, supposedly, towards her home right outside the gate. Fenris had tucked her damaged limbs close to his body, but the others swished like the cat tails caught in a gale. Hawke wanted to mumble something, move to let him know that she was still awake, but her body was just too fatigued and trodden to even consider it.

When everything became motionless and Hawke heard the boom of a door closing, she felt much more peaceful knowing that she was probably back at the Amell estate. It didn't take long, though, for more clamors to erupt.

"Oh, my word!" Bodahn bellowed. She'd recognize him anywhere. "What in the name of Orzammar—"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know," Varric warned.

"Blood," whined who Hawke believed was Sandal.

"It's all right m'boy," Bodahn said calmly. "Nothing to fret over! Don't you remember being with the Hero of Fereldan? Why he and the King of Fereldan were always getting into…"

Bodahn's words became quieter and quieter until they finally disappeared, and Hawke heard another door creak shut. They had gone into another room of her house.

"Put her on her bed. Varric, can you go get me some water? Hawke has a washroom over there with a pump in it."

"Seriously, Blondie?" Varric laughed. "How do you even know that?"

"I've been in this room before."

"How did you manage that?" Fenris snapped.

'_I've toured the estate to everyone…' _

As if reading her mind, Anders countered with "She's shown the whole damn place to everyone when she moved in here! Stop assuming I'm trying to _**rape**_ the girl!"

"Then you should stop staring at her so hungrily," Fenris grumbled, and Hawke became engulfed by downy sheets and fluffed pillows.

Her body allowed her to sigh with satisfaction.

"I'm allowed to want to be with a woman," Anders hissed. "You stare at her just like I do. How can you even say such a thing?"

"When I stare, sex is not the first thing that comes to mind."

"How can you think so lowly of me? You think that all I want is to make love and run?"

"I entered this conversation at the wrong time," Varric chortled. "I heard "rape", "sex", "low", and "make love and run"."

Hawke was sure that Fenris and Anders were redder than tomatoes at that moment.

Hawke's body also allowed her to laugh.

"Hawke?" all three said in unison, though in different tones. Varric sounded staggered, Fenris sounded relieved, and Anders sounded terrified.

Opening her eyes, the room began to spin. She had lost so much blood, she was starting to feel a little…jumbled. Like she had no regulator between her mouth and her brain. The boys appeared as though they were vibrating, and the colors had become much more intense. Fenris' hair was glowing. Anders' head was too large for his body, and Varric was fat.

Hawke giggled. "You guys…look so-so weird! Ahahaha!"

"Whoa," chubby Varric's golden eyes bugged. "I think she's lost it, fellas."

"It's the blood loss," Anders confirmed her own suspicions. "It's made her…well, drunk is the best way to put it I suppose. She's not delusional, but she's not in the right frame of mind."

Hawke looked up at Anders with a playful smile. "You-you know, Anders…when I first met you…I thought that it would be s-so cool if you could turn me into-to a newt. C-Can you do that? Can ya? _**Can ya**_?"

Anders' pinched his lips together, hiding a grin. "I suppose. If I tried."

"You will do no such thing," Fenris spat.

"Oh, Fenris," Hawke half-sighed, half-moaned. "I s-swear…when-whenever you speak, I feel like my ears ar-are having orgasms. You're voice i-is making love to my _**ears**_, Fen_**ris**_!"

Fenris buried his embarrassed face in his hands.

Varric laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. "This is the best day of my life! And I was just going to spend this precious time _**drinking**_."

"Hawke," Anders took her attention away from Fenris and Varric. He leaned down on his knees right by her bedside. "Is there anywhere in particular that's in a lot of pain? I know the Arishok crushed your ankle—"

Hawke silenced Anders by shoving her lips on his.

The mages lips were full and supple, and it didn't take him long to copy the movements of hers. Deepening the kiss, Hawke lightly probed his mouth with her tongue, the passion on Anders' end increasing twofold. Strangely enough, the stubble scraping against her smooth face felt amazing. Hawke was evidently not the first girl to lock lips with the apostate. He was a better kisser than Fenris!

But their stint of intimacy was short-lived; the elf in question soon took Anders by the collar and tossed him as close to the fireplace as he could get without actually throwing him in.

"…_**Wow**_…" Anders said with stars in his eyes.

"_**Occidam tibi**_!" Fenris roared, markings illuminating blue. "_**Manete de mei virgo**_!"

"_**She**_ kissed _**me**_!" Anders snapped back, baffling Hawke. Did Anders know Arcanum? Was he able to understand Fenris?

"There is a Maker," Varric said to the sky, grateful and reverent.

"_**She **_is not mentally sound. _**You **_are. Hawke kissing you is irrelevant."

"Oh, I see now. You're mad that I _**kissed her back**_," Anders said slyly. "One thing I did learn at the Circle; you take an opportunity when you see it."

"And if you take another," Fenris cracked his knuckles just by flexing his hand. "I might become curious as to what color your liver is."

"I'm not going to not kiss Hawke if she kisses me," Anders stood, brushing himself off. "And I could turn you into Elf Flambé before you even got close to my liver."

"Is that a challenge?" Fenris stepped forward.

"It just might be," Anders touched noses with him.

"If it h-h-helps," Hawke added. "Did you know that…that…the word "stressed" is…the word "desserts"…spelled backwards? Get it? Hahaha! Desserts! …I like cake."

"I should just kill myself right now," Varric said, utterly astounded. "It's not going to get any better than this."

Hawke whimpered. "You can't leave, Varric…"

Varric's eyes simpered. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you, sweetie. You know that."

Hawke beamed, sitting up in bed, and stretched her arms out to Varric, suggesting a hug, but soon remember that her right arm was shattered, and she howled from the wound like a terrified mabari hound.

"Don't move!" Anders raced to her side, Fenris in tow, haunting his steps as a vindictive specter. "The Arishok broke your arm, Hawke. You can't move it."

"Damn…Quanri," The new Champion swore.

"Are you all right, _carissimi_?" Fenris asked carefully.

Hawke squealed from delight. "Your voice...orgasms…"

"We-ahem…" Fenris cleared his throat. "We've established that, Hawke. Please, _carissimi_, tell me where it hurts."

"That…depends…" Hawke offered a coquettish smile. "What are you going to do…after I tell you?"

"Oh boy," Varric stroked his chin, smirking. "I think you and I should get outta here, Blondie."

Fenris stretched the skin of his face with his hands.

"I'm going to take off your boot, Hawke," Anders said, delicate, yet steadfast. "I want to look at your ankle."

Anders gestured to his elven and dwarven assistants. "Find towel or a rag and wet it in the water. I'll need to clean the blood to really examine the break."

"Anders," Hawke placed a hand on her healer's whiskery cheek. "When I have children, will you deliver them?"

Fenris blanched. Varric gave Anders a light punch to the shoulder.

"Ah—well…" Anders flushed, scratching his head, gaze refusing to meet the Champion's. "I…uh…don't see why not."

"Good," Hawke sighed, relieved. "You can take my boot off now."

"Th-thank you, Hawke…" Anders shook his head to gather his thoughts, then began undoing the buckles that kept her shoe in place.

With the gentleness and precision, Anders shimmied the boot from her leg as far as it would go, when it snagged at Hawke yipped, he took a knife from his pocket and used it to cut the leather of the bloody shoe as to free her leg. Once the boot was gone, Hawke let her gaze travel down to her foot, not taking the time to consider what exactly she would be seeing.

The skin of her actual foot, including her stubby toes, had turned bluer than Fenris' lyrium tattoos, tinged with a slight purple. Everything ankle down was swollen to a little larger than Varric's fist, and there was blood, both wet and dry, coming from a slash so deep that had been made by the Arishok's talon-fingers. Inclining her head, Hawke saw the cut had gone all the way to her bone; that was the only explanation for the thick white object she was looking at. It helped restore a fragment of her everyday psyche.

"I'm…going to be sick…" she sputtered, throwing a hand over her mouth.

"Don't look at it, Hawke," Anders soothed her. "Lie back. I've got you."

Hawke did as she was told, and she saw both Varric and Fenris reenter the room, the latter clutching a damp white cloth. Without thinking, Hawke extended her good hand out to him, signaling that she wanted someone to succor her while Anders patched her up.

Fenris understood this gesture immediately, and threw the cleaning rag at the apostate before crossing the room in four long strides, settling himself by her bedside.

"This is…disgusting…" Hawke bit down on her lip.

"You will be well before you know it. _Tibi estis valida_."

Hawke let out a breath raggedly. "I…wish Mother was here."

The air in the room became stagnant as soon as she said it, and none of the men made any endeavor to apologize or to even comment on her statement. Varric sat himself in the chair over by Hawke's desk, while Fenris and Anders both lingered beside her. Fenris made it his task to be the comforter, and he removed his protective gauntlets so as to stroke the top of his former lover's head with his bare palm. The steady movement helped to lull Hawke from her previous anxious state, and it allowed Anders the proper environment to practice his craft sufficiently.

The runaway Warden pumped magic into his hands, and he cradled the ankle of his companion as he would a newborn bird that hadn't the ability to fly. With one blink, the magic and lyrium flowed like a river from his body into hers, mending the broken bone at a snail's pace.

The lyrium and the soothing sensation of it was the most wonderful feeling, and some of the earlier irrationality that rocked Hawke's world clouded her thoughts for a second time.

"Oh, _**wow**_," Hawke giggled.

"I have been told I'm quite good with my hands," Anders meant it for Hawke, but his eyes latched on to Fenris.

"Nice one, Blondie," Varric sniggered.

The elf offered the mage a poisonous grimace.

"He's teasing, Fenris!" Hawke winked at the elf.

"He should concentrate on healing you, not make witty remarks."

"Good thing her ankle's done now, eh?" Anders grumbled, removing his hands and giving them a shake; his ritual after using his Maker given gifts. Hawke found it endearing.

"Can I look at it without feeling ill?" Hawke said facetiously.

"It's swollen; that I can't fix. But the bone is intact and the gouge by your heel is gone. You're going to be bedridden for a while, I'm afraid.

"Just what I didn't want to hear," Hawke griped. "Please tell me it's not more than a couple days?"

Thoughtfully, Anders placed both hands on his hips, scanning her up and down so as to properly diagnose. After a few seconds of tongue clicking and lip chewing, Anders put his hands up in the air in a defensive fashion.

"Five days, at least."

Varric hissed as though he'd pricked himself with one of Bianca's bolts.

"…You're joking," Hawke said flatly.

Anders shook his head. "The swelling is bad. And your arm is even worse—don't look at it, Hawke!"

"Sorry!" Hawke squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to see the entire extent of the damage, but she also didn't want to get sick all over her bed. The choice was clear.

"Is she really to stay like this for that long?" Fenris questioned, his snowy hair falling in his eyes.

"If she wants everything to heal properly, yes. My magic can repair breaks and cuts, but I can't get rid of the bruising, the swelling and the pain. She can't walk around and fight like normal."

"Maker's breath, there is no way…" Hawke gaped, then turned to Fenris in critical need of his patronage. "Five days is a bit much, isn't it?"

Fenris crossed his arms tightly over his chest, puckering his lips like a child denied sweets.

"I…am no healer, Hawke. For once, I must agree with the mage. You should allow yourself to rest."

"Varric?" the Champion squeaked.

"Oh, no you don't," The dwarf wagged his finger at her. "Don't break out the pouty-face on me, Hawke. After what just happened with the Arishok, I'm surprised you're still _**alive**_, let alone conscious. I'm goin' with Blondie on this one."

"Ugh!" Hawke threw an adult version of a temper tantrum, slamming her head into a mountain of pillows.

All three men chuckled. Once the humor had subsided, Anders went straight to work on Hawke's arm, which was the exact same color and had distended just like her foot. The hands of the apostate evaporated the pain and left behind a pleasing tingle, which she absolutely loved. Fenris never once left her side, and he kept himself busy by running his fingers through Hawke's wavy hair or scraping his fingernails lightly across the skin of her other arm. It brought her more solace than he could ever comprehend, and Hawke jotted down a mental note to thank him for his charity once Varric and Anders went to their respective homes.

As soon as her arm had been stabilized, Anders told Hawke to keep the water that Varric had filled in her tub, and that, sometime tomorrow afternoon, he would come by and heat the water with magic so that she could take a warm bath, as it would help relax her muscles that he was certain would be sore when she woke up in the morning. For her swelling, he created about two bricks of ice around the size of whet stones, wrapped them in cloth, and told her to apply them if the swelling got worse. He and Fenris both elevated her arm and foot with pillows taken from one of the spare rooms in her house, also for the swelling.

"You should be fine from here on," Anders said in good spirits. "Just get a good night's sleep. I'll be back to check and see how you are tomorrow."

Hawke ground the back of her teeth. For some odd reason, she wasn't comfortable with the idea of Anders leaving. Truth be told, she wasn't comfortable with the idea of any of her friends leaving. Hawke had never been injured like this before. There were times in Lothering and in Kirkwall when she was cut or bruised, but this was her first real serious wound. What if she couldn't get Bodahn or Sandal to respond to her calls if there was an emergency? What if more Qunari attacked, and she could not protect them? Or if she needed help getting up from her bed to relieve herself?

_'…Okay. That one is a little embarrassing…' _

But the core of the problem did not change. Weathering this alone wasn't something she particularly wanted. If her mother, father, Carver or Bethany were here, she would have no qualms in letting each one of them walk out her door. Each one of them had left and, save for the minute chance in the Bethany department, they were not coming back. This meant that asking for someone to keep her company wasn't childish or idiotic. It was practical.

Hawke squared her shoulders, but spoke with a tiny voice. "Acutally…I—that is…"

Anders gave her an inquisitive look. Varric's was lighthearted. Fenris' was expectant.

"I'd…I'd like you to stay. All of you. I…would feel…I would be able to sleep easier knowing that there was someone here who could watch over Sandal and Bodahn while I'm incapacitated."

"Enchantment boy?" Varric beckoned to the door with his thumb. "That kid's burned down hordes of darkspawn, not to mention the assorted array of homes and buildings. You're a horrible liar, Hawke."

Hawke wiped some invisible dust from her stomach. "I'm just…concerned."

Anders gave her the biggest smile she'd ever seen from him. "Of course I'll stay, Hawke. You know, I should've thought of that in the first place. You're going to need help in case you fall out of bed or something…"

"I will stay as well," Fenris nodded curtly.

That made Hawke's heart leap to her throat.

"Sounds like you don't really need me, though," Varric shrugged. "Someone needs to go tell the Team Sharing and Caring that you're not dead anyway."

"That's right," Anders agreed. "The others don't know. That's a good idea Varric. Fenris and I can take care of Hawke."

Fenris regarded the Champion with wide, affectionate eyes. "Is this a suitable arrangement?"

Hawke bobbed her head up and down, hair dancing.

"So, Blondie," Varric said emphatically, yanking on Anders' coat. "You should, uh, walk me to the keep, y'know? Plus we should make a plan about where to look for Isabela…since she, well, pulled another vanishing act."

Anders understood Varric's implications instantaneously. "Right! Can you look after Hawke while I'm with Varric, Fenris?"

"Yes," Fenris said to Hawke's marred ankle.

Varric said his goodbyes to his friend, making her promise that she would try to behave for the two men and not kiss them willy-nilly. Hawke vowed and even got a dilapidated hug from her dwarf companion, and Anders said he would be back as soon as he could. It wasn't until they both left that Fenris shot a daunting scowl in her direction.

Hawke balked at his irate aura. "Are you…feeling all right?"

"No, I am not 'feeling all right'!" Fenris spat, balling his fists. "You cannot begin to fathom how _**furious**_ I am!"

Hawke's chest began to ache. "…This is about Anders isn't it?"

Fenris gave a low snarl before waving his hands. "That is…a piece of what plagues me, yes."

"A piece?"

"There is much more to how I am feeling at this juncture."

Hawke shifted uneasily. "Have I…really upset you this much?"

"Yes," Fenris paced. "But it was indirect, so this anger is somewhat unjustly fixed on you, I suppose."

Hawke leaned away from him. "Somewhats and supposes? You sound more confused than mad, Fenris."

"Oh, no," the elf laughed without humor, stopping in his tracks. "I am under no illusion as to what has me on edge, _**little minx**_."

"Ah, so I'm a _**minx **_now am I?" Hawke felt secretly accomplished. "Should I take this as a complement or an insult?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm talking about more than just you, _amasiuncula_."

"Insult then."

"Hawke." Fenris huffed.

"Fen_**ris**_." Hawke gave him a melodramatic eye roll.

"Can you not act _**seriously**_?" Fenris exploded, his voice shaking everything in the room, the fire flickering in an effort to recoil. His volume even made Hawke jump.

"Fenris—"

"_**Festis bei umo canavarum**_!" The elf dropped to the floor, crossing his legs and shoving his hands in the mound of snowy tresses.

This wasn't anger. This was…vexation.

"I am talking about the Arishok, Hawke." Fenris allayed himself, but he did not take his hands from his hair.

"What does the Arishok have to do with this?"

"Not the Arishok specifically, you stubborn woman."

"Whoa, now," Hawke pointed at him. "Let's play nice. I'll be serious if we can play nice."

At her words, Fenris directed his smoldering green eyes at her, a slight wisp of friskiness coalescing with the heat.

"What if I do not want to play nice?" Fenris said with a low voice.

Hawke felt the inside of her mouth start to itch. "…That depends. What's the context of "nice" to you, Fenris?"

"Perhaps I should hear your own context before I respond."

"I was talking about throwing out the insults."

Fenris grinned cheekily. "I was not."

"So, then, it's safe to say that my kissing Anders did not bother you."

"Of course it did, but that is not my place." Fenris picked at his breastplate. "I do not own you. You may kiss any man you wish. Though, I must know; why did you do that?"

"Blood loss, like he said. Your hair was shining and Varric gained about fifty pounds."

Fenris laughed heartily. "I would have loved to see through your eyes at that moment."

"I'm sure you would have. My turn, though. Why were you bothered?"

Fenris gulped. "Can I…not feel a little protective over you after what…transpired?"

"But you left."

"Did I ever say I wanted to?"

Hawke's stomach lurched, but not in a bad way. "You didn't want to leave?"

"No. But I had to."

"Why?"

Fenris ran his tongue over his thin lips. "It is…complicated. Suffice it to say that, while I cannot be with you, I do have…feelings?"

Hawke rested her chin in her good palm. "This is one of those things I'm just going to have to accept and get over right?"

"I'm afraid so," Fenris winked. "However, I reserve the right to keep Anders from kissing you. You may kiss him if you wish."

"Little possessive, don't you think?"

"I enjoy entertaining the notion that you will be mine someday soon."

Hawke flushed. "I think I'm going to…remember that."

Fenris whispered "It is my hope that you do."

While Hawke was more than excited about his flirting, she couldn't help but feel a little befuddled at his forwardness. He cared for her, yet could not act as her lover? That did not add up. She took what she could get though. Fenris did hint that he would enter such a relationship in the future if she was still around. That was better than nothing, which was her assumption a handful of days ago. Could she wait for him?

Kissing Anders was nice, but when she had kissed Fenris…

There was nothing in Thedas that could compare.

Resisting the former slave was such a trial…

Nervousness got the better of her, and Hawke mumbled. "We…seem to, uh, have gotten off track. You were telling me about the Arishok."

"I haven't waylaid the conversation, Hawke," Fenris rested his hands in his lap, his gaze shifting from provocative to solemn. "Not entirely."

"Andraste's Grace, Fenris. I'm tired, sore and, ostensibly, bedbound for five days. Forgive me if I can't hunt for hidden clues in your dialogue."

Fenris' brow rutted. "O..ten…excuse me?"

"Nevermind," Hawke waved his question away. "I'll explain it later. What does any of this have to do with the Arishok?"

"Why did you do it?" Fenris slapped his knees. "Why challenge such a brute for someone who deceived you and abandoned you?"

Hawke rubbed her eye. "You want to know why I didn't let the Qunari take Isabela."

"Yes, I do."

"Well, that's simple," Hawke shrugged. "I didn't think Isabela deserved it. She brought the book back. That was much more than I thought she would do. Who knows what those crazy horned giants would have done to her."

"Converted her to the Qun," Fenris said plainly. "She would either accept it willingly, or they would force her. The Qunari waste nothing."

Hawke smacked her lips from the bad taste of truth. "Now I'm even gladder I agreed to a duel. Or are you saying that it's the dueling part that's upset you?"

"No," Fenris cut the air with his hand. "The duel was tolerable. I did not think that the terms were acceptable."

"Isabela was—is—my friend, Fenris." Hawke wiggled her inflamed foot just a tad. "I would do the same for you if you got in trouble with the Qunari."

"I am not so foolish as to find myself in that kind of situation."

"The Qunari was just an example, Fenris!" Zealous aggravation seized her. "I would help any of my comrades. I've done it before. I helped Sebastian kill his family's murderers. I helped Anders find that mad templar. I even helped Aveline court Donnic, Maker be my witness! So when that huge Qunari threatened to take a loyal ally, I didn't even think twice about whether or not I should let him. I would have died before I let him make off with Isabela—"

"That is the point, _**Hawke**_!" Fenris leapt to his feet, his ire neck-and-neck with the Champion's. But the adoration that cavorted in his eyes, like a tuft of smoke that came after blowing out a candle, flared and enlarged. "You could have died! You _**were **_dying! I watched the whole battle, Hawke, and I am unreservedly amazed as to how you walked away from that with only _**broken bones**_. Do you not understand how grave a matter this is? How astounding?"

"I could give a nug's ass how impossible it was to defeat the Arishok," Hawke said caustically.

"You are missing my true meaning, _amasiuncula_," Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And what, pray tell, is that, Fenris?" Hawke sat up in bed as best she could, tired of his obscurities. "That I'm an idiot for protecting others? That I bit off more than I could chew? That I should learn not to stand up for other people that can't defend themselves? That—"

"_**You. Frightened. Me**_!"

Hawke felt her tongue go dry as Fenris' face turned red, but not from chagrin. Rage like this in Fenris…he wasn't even this mad when they found out Hadriana was on the Wounded Coast. Hawke didn't know what to make of his temperament. But it struck a chord of fear and confusion with such a force that it took all her resolve not to hide behind a pillow and cry.

But it was the substance of the words that kept all of that bravado from waning.

"When I saw him break your arm, I—" Fenris' voice broke. "It was the first time I had ever prayed. I didn't even know what to think. All I could see was your grave. An urn filled with ashes from your body. I thought…"

And when Fenris looked back up at her, she saw that same tear meandering from his eye to his chin.

"I thought I had lost you, _carissimi_."

Hawke's jaw hit the floor. "…Fenris."

"Please," he ran to her side, fell to his knees and rested his wet face on her thigh. "I beg you—I beseech you, Hawke. Do not ever, _**ever**_, frighten me like that again. I cannot…I _**will **_not live in a world…that does not have you in it."

Touched by his openness and sincerity, Hawke felt all the words within her scatter like startled rats. He had shed tears for her; not many, but two was more than none. He had pleaded with her to safeguard herself because he did not want to part with her forever. The confession annexed everything that had previously occurred between them, and that familiar love she held for him blossomed into a stunning flower on her heart. But how to reply? How could she tell Fenris how much he meant to her if she couldn't articulate it?

Fenris backed away from her like a scolded mabari. "Forgive me…I seemed to have gotten…carried away."

"No!" Hawke said a bit too loudly. "I mean—I…well…"

The elf regarded her with a stare that was equal parts reticent and eager.

"I…" Hawke drew circles on her sheets with her pinky. "I…I couldn't live in a world without you, either…that's why I…I changed my mind."

Fenris straightened. She could tell just by looking at him that his heart was hammering.

"Changed your mind? What are you talking about?"

"I…" Hawke let her own tears jolt from her eyes. "I was going to let the Arishok kill me…"

Fenris stoned himself, flabbergasted.

"I felt awful," Hawke continued, stumbling. "I-I…I just…my mother…and Father…I thought I would be happier if I just died and went to be with them. I thought that no one needed me…"

"What a foolish thought."

"I know!" Hawke sniveled. "It was selfish of me. But when…when I saw your face, I knew…"

Hawke concentrated all of her love for him into a single point, then mentally shot it in the form of an arrow, her damp blue eyes playing the part of the bow, straight at Fenris.

"I knew it was impossible. I couldn't leave you. It was like you took a chain and bound me to you. I was floating away, and you pulled me back. That's how I killed him, Fenris. I was so…so determined to live; I ignored my body and just…didn't stop fighting.

Fenris' breathing deepened at Hawke's earnestness, waves of unadulterated desire pulsing with the swiftness of a birds wings and the steadiness of a rain shower. It was enough to give Hawke goose bumps all over her arms and legs. He did not blink, just dug his gaze into her, arousing her senses and making Hawke long to be free of her wounds so she could embrace him like she knew he wanted her to.

"I will never leave you, _carissimi. _So you must not leave me."

"Never," Hawke hiccupped. "I can't. I'm sorry I frightened you. Truly, I am. I can't promise I won't ever do it again, but I'll be more careful about choosing my battles.

"That is wonderful to hear," Fenris sighed, reassured. "I would also like to apologize for my…impolite behavior. I should not have shouted at you, Hawke."

"Oh, there's no need. I can't hold a grudge against you." Hawke braced herself. "…You have my heart, Fenris."

Hawke suspected him to brush off her semi-proclamation of love. Then he smirked.

"It truly is a horrible thing, yearning for you but not being able to satiate it.

"Don't forget, this is your choice, not mine."

"I know. What a masochist I am. I'm turning away cream for milk."

"Then…don't do it." Hawke twiddled her thumbs. "Let me be with you."

Fenris, obviously dismayed, shook his head. "I cannot. I wish I could, but I cannot. It is difficult for me. It is a hunger I have never known before. All I ask is your patience, if you are willing."

Hawke bashfully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Of course she was willing. "Sounds like you could go for some supper, though, hmmm?"

The elf's grin ballooned. "I believe it is something sweet that I'm craving."

Hawke faked obliviousness. "Oh, I see! Cake, perhaps?"

"Yes," Fenris chuckled darkly. "_**Cake**_."

"What kind?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I do, actually."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Very well."

And then Fenris said something about an intimate part of her anatomy that made Hawke's neck sizzle.

But not before Anders walked into her room to hear him make the lewd comment.


End file.
